


Stumbling

by TinyFoxParade



Series: Bastien Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Love, Dysfunctional Family, Embarassment, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Fluff, Insanely Slow Burn, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, POV Dorian, POV Dorian Pavus, POV Inquisitor, POV Multiple, Role Models, Sibling Rivalry, Sibling fight, Slow Burn, Teasing, UST, brotherly hate, dorian learns patience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 70
Words: 116,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8129126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyFoxParade/pseuds/TinyFoxParade
Summary: The only thing Bastien wanted out of life was a small room overlooking the sea full of books and sketches. What he got was a mark on his palm that tossed him into the thick of a war he knew almost nothing about. As if that wasn't complicated enough, along came Dorian, who raised questions he didn't know he was supposed to be asking. Basically, Bastien struggles to understand love and its mechanisms all while navigating the Mage-Templar war and Corypheus. Follows canon plot of Inquisition loosely with a few deviations.





	1. Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These first few chapters are going to be pretty fast paced until we get to Dorian. Thank you @lyviel for your motivation! Hope you all like it!

_“Hey, you need to wake up, Baby Bastien.”_

Jean’s voice echoed in Bastien’s head and he groaned, rolling to his side. A sharp metal clang ricocheted off hollow walls and rebounded to him, splitting through his throbbing head as he curled in on himself. He tried to clasp his head in his hands, but they resisted. He split one eye open, just a fraction, and perceived a metal bar bracing his wrists, flickering in the torchlight. His brow drew forward and he frowned, rocking up to kneeling.

 _What happened?_ The thought traced lazily through his mind.

A sharp, burning pain rocketed up his arm with a loud crack, doubling him over as he cried out. A vibrant green glow exploded out from his palm, its eerie light a stark contrast against his tanned skin as it traced the veins up his arm, burning into his shoulder before it slowly subsided. He hissed through gritted teeth as the glow in his veins began to slink away. His eyelids slowly fluttered open, finally acknowledging the four armed guards with their swords drawn on him. Everything was still so hazy, the edges of his vision tinged green, could this be a dream? The last thing he remembered he was at the Conclave. Something happened… But, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember anything.

The doors before him flew open, the loud crash of wood and steel slammed sharply against damp stone, echoing in the small space. A sharp gust of icy wind blasted into the dank, churning the moist air of the dungeon with the crisp scent of snow and pine. Two women of equally formidable statures stormed into the room, eyes intense and focused on him. A woman with short cropped hair descended on him. He was certain she would have regal, beautiful features if they weren’t twisted with rage. His dark hazel eyes shimmered in the lamplight, reflecting gold as they flicked up to meet the woman’s fury, following her as she circled him.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” She growled in his ear, sending a chill racing up his spine.

_Kill me? Why in Andraste’s name would they kill me?_

“The Conclave was destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.” He heard her voice cracking as she circled him, the desperate attempt to keep the tremor from her voice. The tone turned to a snarl, “Except for you.”

_Wait…. Everyone is dead?_

It was clear the woman expected an answer, but Bastien was already detached from her. His gaze fell forward, locks of his shaggy, dark red hair tickling against the bridge of his nose as it went unattended before him.

_That can’t be…_

“Answer me!” She bellowed, but Bastien was shocked to silence.

_Aunt Marjolaine? Uncle Maxwell? Maker…Jean was up there._

His tongue turned to stone in his mouth and his throat and eyes began to burn at the thought of his eldest brother, dead, just like that. The woman continued to rave at him, but he couldn’t hear her. When he finally spoke, all of his words tumbled out in a choked sob.

“All of them?” He looked desperately up at them, eyes burning.

The strange hooded woman, who’d remained silent up until now, raised both eyebrows at his expression of grief. The dark haired woman’s rage seemed to falter, just for a moment and she scoffed; a thick sound in the back of her throat as if the sudden rush of empathy had insulted her.

“Explain this.” She grabbed him roughly by the wrist, wrenching his hand forward, scraping his skin sharply against the manacles. As if on cue, the green hue erupted from his palm, it may have been beautiful if not for the screaming pain radiating up his arm. His jaw snapped closed, eyes slamming shut as he muscled his way through the waves of pain.

“I…can’t. I don’t….” He took a sharp breath as he hissed the words though his teeth, “I don’t know what that is or how it got there.”

“You’re lying!” She roared and dropped his wrist to grab him by the shoulder, her hand on the pommel on her sword.

The green faded, the pain dissipated, and his breath rushed out in a sharp sigh. The hooded woman finally intervened, grabbing her companion by the shoulder and wrenching her forcibly away with a few clipped words before turning her attention to Bastien. He suddenly felt less at ease with her calm.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” She said in an even tone, her voice steady. He knit his brow and stared down at the floor, flexing his burning palm as he tried to remember.

“I remember…. Running. I was being chased by a bunch of… things… There was a woman.” He murmured, not looking up as the clouded memories slid before him reluctantly. He had excellent memory, but he had to pull hard for these few images to come forth.

“A woman?” Her attention caught on that word, pulling her a few steps closer as she hung on his next few words, as if they would be the key to give her some desperately sought resolution.

“She reached out to me. And then…” He shook his head, and they seemed to understand that this was all he could recall.

The fierce woman sighed, dismissing her friend. Bastien had to admit he had no desire to be alone with this woman, but he wasn’t truly in a position to do anything about it. She knelt down before him and undid the manacles. But before he could rub blood back into his wrists, she bound them with a corded rope.

“What did happen?” He murmured, unable to meet the woman’s intense stare, focusing on the now discarded manacles to his side. She seemed to pause a moment in contemplation, he felt her gaze boring into the side of his face, the he saw her shoulders sag in the corner of his eye.

“It will be easier to show you.”


	2. Reluctant Recruit

Bastien felt light.

He was lying down on a soft bed...well, softer than the bed rolls he’d occupied for the last several days of travel at least. For a brief moment, everything from before seemed like a dream: The explosion, Jean’s death, the mark, the angry woman named Cassandra, the strange dwarf named Varric, the odd bald elf named Solas, the monstrous demon and the hole in the sky… all a dream. A horrifying, demon and magic filled dream with oddly vivid characters.

A fire flickered happily in a hearth nearby, scenting the air with burning pine and smoke. The wind howled angrily outside, carrying unfamiliar voices to his ear. He snuggled down into the thick, downy comforter draped across his shoulders, feeling unfamiliar fabric shift against his skin. _Someone had changed his clothes_. He felt the color creep up his neck all the way to his ears.

He tossed the warm security of the comforter off in a flurry, rocketing upright to gaze down at himself and scaring the life from an elven serving girl. His eyes went wide, holding his hands out in front of him in apology as the crate she carried fell heavily to the floor, clattering sharply on impact.

“Sorry!” He cringed, the blush growing darker, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The woman collapsed to her knees, lowering her head. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, standing to meet her.

“I-I didn’t know you were awake!” Her voice trembled from the ground, “I swear!”

“It’s alright! Maker, it’s alright! Please just stand up.” He knelt before her and touched a hand to her shoulder, but she vaulted back away from him, her back slamming hard against the wall.

“That’s wrong isn’t it?” Her eyes were tearing, “I’ve said the wrong thing!”

He was thoroughly confused. This woman had nothing to fear from him. He rocked backwards, falling on his backside to sit, and the girl seemed to relax a bit at his boyish posture.  He kept his tone low and gentle, “What are you talking about? You haven’t said anything wrong.”

“I ask your forgiveness, and your blessing.” She resumed a kneeling position a few feet away, her head hanging forward in a bow. “I am but a humble servant.”

“What are you…,” Bastien rubbed the back of his neck, his head spinning as he glanced about the room, “Where am I?”

“You are back in Haven, my lord.” That part at least sounded familiar. “They said you saved us. That the breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand.”

He winced and cast his eyes down to his palm, it flickered green as if laughing at him and he winced, shoving his hand into his pocket to stifle the glow. So, it wasn’t a dream, the horrible memories…they were all real. At least his skin had resumed its healthy tan, not the ashen grey he’d woken up with. He groaned and rolled onto his back, bracing his arm over his eyes.

“It’s all anyone’s talked about for three days.” That caught his attention.

“Three…” He shot back upright, eyes wide, “Three days?”

“I’m certain lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened.” The girl stood quickly, bracing her arms across her chest rigidly.

“Wait, I –“

“At once, she said.” The girl muttered before bolting out the door, leaving it open to the frozen world beyond.

The fire hissed as flecks of snow strayed into its reach, carried on a harsh wind through the open door. Bastien stood and had to stretch, his muscles creaking and joints popping. He definitely felt like he hadn’t moved in three days. But why was that girl so afraid of him? He was the least intimidating person he knew even when he was armed, let alone standing in pajamas that clung to him in the most uncomfortable way. He shuffled over and closed the door against the blasted cold.

The worst thing? All of this was real. Every last horrifying detail, all the twisted corpses, all the blood and fighting, all the demons, all of it was real. His head began to swim, what if one of those petrified corpses, one of those piles of bones trampled beneath the feet of the charging soldiers, had been Jean? He plopped back down on the edge of his bed as the world spun and crumbled around him, his face going pale. He buried his face in his hands.

 _Maker, Jean was dead._ His dearest elder brother, his hero, the one person in this world he could always count on to love and support him in all of his choices... was dead. His eyes burned as the tears began to flow forth. Jean had taught him how to fight, had encouraged him to keep up with his journal when his siblings teased him for it, had bought him his first sketchbook and encouraged him to draw, had brought him books and written him letters when he was away. Even when he wasn’t there, he was always reachable, always present in Bastien’s mind. And just like that, he’d been ripped away from him. He felt the loss like a sword through the heart, a raw, jagged wound that burned and twisted at his insides.

_He was the best of us, and now he’s gone._

_I cant even spread his ashes._

He didn't try to stop the tears flowing down his cheeks. The least he could do for his brother was mourn him properly. He allowed himself a few moments of wallowing before shaking his head. Jean wouldn't want him to stay like this forever. He would want Bastien to get up and press on, to go make new memories with new friends, to see the world. He took slow, ragged breaths, trying to control the hammering in his heart and the burning in his throat. 

He stood slowly once his head stopped swimming and the tears began to slow, making his way towards the window. His eyes caught harsh notes on a small scrap of paper, held on the desk by a small weight. He set it back down after reading it, he’d nearly died as well, and the thought did not sit well with him. Settled beside it was a very familiar, well loved, worn leather book, a treasured gift from Jean on his last birthday. He reached out slowly, as if the illusion would dissipate if he’d moved too quickly. His fingers trailed over the well known figure of a rearing horse and flowing mane on its rich brown hide. It was real, it survived.

He snatched it up quickly and unraveled the leather binding it shut and relaxed at the familiar contents, the sweet note at the beginning from his brother nearly starting his tears once more. His journal had somehow survived all of this, had somehow managed to stay with him through all of this. He made his way back over to his bed and stashed the book in the nightstand, then thought better of it and placed it back on the desk. The best place to hide something, after all, was to put it in plain sight. Besides, if he’d been unconscious for three days, none of its contents were likely a mystery to anyone.

His eyes caught the glint of metal as he turned, sunlight catching on the new set of armor resting on a shelf. It looked significantly warmer that what he was wearing, so he piled it on and fastened the buckles, hooked a heavy green cloak about his shoulders, and stepped out into the icy air.

And nearly ran straight back inside.

The entire town was lined outside his door in various states of grief and joy. Some weeping, some keening the Chant of Light to the heavens, some curled in a kneeling position with their hands clasped above their heads as they rocked. And before them stood guards, offering him a salute with mixed emotions on their half hidden faces as he began to walk uneasily, and quickly, through the parted crowd.

Well…this was a radical change from being the prisoner with swords at his neck.

“That’s him!” A woman cried, several others murmured a repetition followed by a wave of startled gasps.

“That’s the Herald of Andraste!” A man shouted beside her, and those around him began to cry out.

And with that, Bastien broke into a run. This was it; this would be what killed him. He’d been spared Cassandra's wrath just to wake in a village of cultists who would sacrifice him on a pyre much like the Makers beloved.

The way out of the town was blocked. In fact, multiple routes were closed to him. He continued to run but had the distinct feeling he was being herded. He pushed through the doors of the Chantry, only to find more of the faithful gathered there. And so he kept going, deeper into the building, slowing only when he saw the Chantry sisters and revered mothers had begun to herd the masses outside.

He slowed to a walk when the doors shut, heavy and strong between him and the masses, securing his solitude. The sweet smell of the incense which burned in every Chantry wafted to his nostrils, bringing a familiar comfort to his heart and a small smile to his face. He felt at peace, the familiarity of his environment settling his pounding heart and casting him back to familiar ground, stilling his shaken body and easing some of the tension from his muscles. Following the guidance of a kind Chantry sister, he was directed to the door at the very back of the hall. He was nearly ready to face Cassandra and whatever she intended to deal to him by the time he made it to the back of the room. At the very least, she should be able to explain what was going on. The fact that he wasn't cuffed seemed like a good start. 

He paused in the large door frame when he heard shouting, hand frozen as it reached out for the doorknob. A grin split against his lips as he listed to Cassandra heatedly defending him. Perhaps things were going to go better than he expected, perhaps he would not be burned at the stake? But the Chancellor was not backing down, and his rather heated accusation of Bastien causing the explosion of the Conclave made his blood run cold. This man, who didn’t know him in the slightest, was accusing him of not only killing all of those people, but of killing Jean.

He flung the door open and braced himself to face the man’s rage, but was startled to see five people in the room, instead of the two or three he had expected, and the discovery completely took the wind from his sails. But he did learn one crucial thing fairly quickly:

 Do NOT cross Cassandra.

And after a little redirect pulled on Roderick, pinning him as a suspect in the Divines murder, he learned yet another crucial thing:

Do NOT cross Leliana.

Cassandra addressed him, turning all eyes to him with a gesture as she claimed he’d been sent by the Maker. Bastien’s face went frighteningly pale moments before flushing deep red as he waved his hands before him in dismissal. He couldn’t let this blasphemy stand.

“You think…” He shook his head, trying to collect his words, “I wasn’t sent by the Maker.”

“We aren’t sure, but what else could it be? You arrived in our darkest hour, what else could that be if not providence?”

Bastien had no response to Cassandra’s words. He suddenly fell irrevocably and aggravatingly mute. He believed in the Maker and Andraste, but he was far from devout. His mothers insistence for continued prayer and service to the Chantry only made him detest the system, finding it flawed and corrupt, especially when his mother dragged them all off to mass and spent the entire time gossiping with other housewives while his father made connections.  He jumped as the large book slammed down on the table. He only caught the last few words Cassandra said, but his eyes stayed locked on that book. _A divine writ? For what?_

“I am reforming the Inquisition.” Cassandra barked, advancing on the poor Chancellor, who’s face grew more red with each word. Bastien reaffirmed his earlier directive: DO NOT cross Cassandra!

Roderick took off after this, his tail between his legs and a heavy snarl on his lips. This would not be the last of him, he was certain. He’d seen that look on more than one sniveling noble who’d come to clamor for his father’s favor, only to earn his ire.

He was introduced to the rest of the group, and caught himself staring at Cullen, forcing himself to stare at the ground for the rest of the discussion. He carried himself exactly like Jean, a sort of powerful, feline grace that shifted calmly, but carried a weight and almost a threat, all while somehow seeming approachable. Though perhaps he was simply trying to fill the void left by his absence with the first male figure he came across. When he was finally dismissed, he attempted to evacuate to the sanctity of his cabin, to avoid the throngs staring at him, but was caught by the dwarf, Varric, along the way.

“You ok, Kid? Most people would’ve stretched this out over more than one day.” The tone was teasing, but Bastien saw the true concern in his eyes. This dwarf seemed like a good man and would, hopefully, be a friend to him in this. Then again, Bastien was a very trusting individual and tended to make friends entirely too easily. No doubt Cassandra would scold him for considering befriending the dwarf after her multitude of warnings on their hike to the breach.

“Honestly? My head hasn’t stopped spinning yet. I’m sure once it sinks in I’ll be drowning. And when that happens, I’ll be sure to come to you.” He grinned and was about to press back to his cabin when he paused,“Wait, are you _the_ Varric, as in Varric Tethras? Author of Hard in Hightown?”

“Yes…” The dwarf drawled suspiciously with a slow nod.

Bastien was overjoyed, and honestly a bit surprised. He was standing face to face with a man who’d survived the chaos at Kirkwall, the man who’d stayed side by side with the legendary Champion of Kirkwall, Garrett Hawke, for all of his adventures. He tried to keep his voice even as the excitement threatened to bubble over.

“I read your ‘Tale of Champions’.” He tried to ignore the blush that was probably on his cheeks. "Can I ask you a few questions?" 

Varric sighed and motioned for Bastien to continue, albeit resigned, “Go ahead.”

Bastien proceeded to bombard him with every question he could possibly think of. Varric was blessedly patient with him as he tried to keep his voice at a normal pace, to ignore the way his heart was pounding excitedly as he stared at the man who was such a wealth of knowledge that had, up until now, been rather obscure. No one knew exactly what had happened in the downward spiral of Kirkwall, it had all been rumors and speculation. But now? Bastien had a direct link to someone who had actually been physically there for and a key influence to every last pivotal event. He was _not_ going to waste this opportunity, even if Cassandra would likely tell him it was all lies. He suddenly realized that the sun had begun to set, and at some point a bowl of stew had been pressed into his hand and been eaten without his notice.

Varric seemed to notice it at the same time and laughed, “You’d better go to bed, Kid. It’s been a _long_ day.”

Bastien was about to protest when a yawn overtook him. He laughed at the tail of it and nodded, relinquishing his bowl to an overeager resident of Haven, who was more than happy to take the bowl of the Herald of Andraste. Varric only laughed and slipped into his tent, leaving Bastien blessedly alone in the cold. He slipped into his cottage and peeled off the layers of snow and frost dusted armor, changing back into the strange clothes left to him. He lifted his journal delicately from the desk and undid the strap. He ran his fingers reverently against the cool, rich brown surface and cracked it open. It laid untouched, opening to the crisp page he’d left off. Bastien immediately set to writing.

It had been something his siblings had always teased him for, except Jean, and it was something he’d always done since he learned to write. Every day, at the end of the day, he would write his thoughts, his experiences, everything that passed in his mind. His siblings had used it as both incriminating evidence against himself and the others on more than one occasion since it was so meticulous, but he never stopped. It helped him to remember the important details explicitly and quickly, not to mention helped to sort it to a more rational experience. And if there was one thing he was desperate for at this moment, it was something rational, something familiar.

After the candle had burned down and his thoughts and events had been recorded, he huddled back down beneath the blankets. The soft, warm weight of them, combined with the rich smell of the flames and herbs in the fireplace, quickly whisked him off into a very deep sleep.


	3. Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 99 quests in the Hinterlands  
> 99 quests in the Hinterlands  
> Take one down, mark it right out  
> 125 quests in the Hinterlands

The soft, pink light of the first rays of dawn found Bastien seated on a short overhang in the center of Haven, his back pressed up against a pillar over the stairs. He’d donned his armor a few hours before and paced his way through the surrounding woods, gathering any herbs he’d recognized, raiding a small shed, and making a friend and a sketch of a wild druffalo in an empty sketchbook he’d found nestled in his cabin. The night had not been kind to him. Those few moments when he managed to sleep wracked him with nightmares of Jean, only to be woken by an eerie thrum in his hand as his mark flared. It no longer hurt him, however it was rather startling to be woken by an electric buzz up your arm. He began to wear a glove over it, but the mark bored through, defiant and unheeding of his desire to hide it. Its green glow was matched only by the giant, swirling hole in the sky. He watched as it twisted and turned on itself, pulsing an aurora further into the surrounding sky, radiating from that terrible focal point. The sketch he’d started on the small pad in his lap barely did it justice, despite his best efforts. He twirled the charcoal between his fingers as he stared off into the sunrise. Perhaps if he had color…

“Ok, that is kinda creepy.” Varric yawned as he emerged from his tent, snapping Bastien from his thoughts. “Have you been sitting there the whole night?”

Bastien sputtered, “Ah-n-no! No I haven’t! I… I couldn’t sleep is all. I only arrived here a few moments ago to watch the sunrise.”

Varric laughed at his reaction, “It’s alright, Rosey.”

“…What?” Bastien tilted his head at the dwarf.

“It’s my thing, I give people knicknames.” Varric dismissed his curiosity and began to warm his hands by the still burning flames.

“And I’m a ‘Rosey’?” Bastien’s eyebrow arched as the other pulled down, he slid off the overhang and ascended the few stairs to join Varric by the fire. Was this dwarf going to tease him as his siblings had? Maker, he hoped not. Varric laughed.

“You always turn ‘Rosey’ when you are embarrassed. Don’t worry, I’m sure plenty of women find it endearing.”

Bastien only blushed harder, causing Varric to laugh once more. His revelry and teasing went uninterrupted until the rest of their party for the Hinterlands arrived. Cassandra looked like she’d woken up in her armor, which was entirely possible, while Solas looked like he could have used a few more hours of sleep. Varric shouldered Bianca as they gathered their belongings and headed out for the Hinterlands at the base of the mountain.

They took a break and stopped for lunch along the way. Having no horses, they were making the trip on foot and it would take most of the morning, and possibly into the afternoon, to reach their destination. Cassandra distributed the meats and cheese she’d packed for the lot of them and Varric contributed a loaf of bread. Bastien dug into his pack and pulled out a jar of preserves and held it out to the group after spreading some onto his bread.

“What in Andraste’s name is that?” Varric asked, taking the small jar and holding it to his nose, his eye brows rising as he examined it.

“Is that truly elfroot and honey jam?” Cassandra gasped, snatching it from Varric and quickly dipping her bread in it to taste. Her eyes closed and her features relaxed, only to tense a moment later as a faint blush crept to her cheeks. And it was in that moment that Bastien decided that she was beautiful, fiercely beautiful.

“Oh, now Seeker, if I’d known it was so easy to get on your good side I would’ve thought of that in the first place.” Varric laughed before winking at him, “Excellent thinking, Rosey.”

Bastien cringed at the statement, as well as the resurgence of the nickname. “You know what, Varric, just for that, you don’t get any.”

“I shall assume that threat does not extend to myself?” Solas murmured with a sly smile as he took the jar from the exuberant Seeker, smearing it on his own bread. “This is excellent.” He said after a few bites, “Where did you get it?”

“Oh…” And here comes the teasing. He felt the blush spread even as he smiled at the memory, “I-I made it. One of the elves in our kitchen used to make it all the time and taught me, said its good for poultices and luncheons.”

“I should like to have the recipe.” The elf finished off his bread and moved on to the cheese, passing the jam back to Bastien.

_That was it? No ridicule, no taunting, no…nothing?_

“Ok now I have to try it.” Bastien held it out of Varric’s reach when the dwarf made a grab for it, using his superior height to his advantage.

“Oh c’mon, I can make it famous.”

Bastien gestured to the rest of the group, speaking through a bite of cheese, “This is as famous as I want it.”

“Fine then, buy off my secrecy that you like to cook.” Ah, there it is.

Bastien sighed and handed over the jar to the Dwarf who immediately dunked his bread, crumbs and all into the small jar before stuffing it into his mouth. He was a bit surprised how easily the group fell into a comfortable silence after teasing. He hardly knew anything about them, and they hardly knew anything about him, yet here they were, sharing his jam in a cozy clearing in the woods like it was just another picnic. Bastien smiled. The sun shone warmly overhead, tracing its rays in lacelike patterns over the forest floor. Several of the trees had begun to change colors, and others had begun to drop their leaves, making each footfall crunch beneath their steps. The musty smell of earth put him at ease, like the world wasn’t being torn apart over his head. _Everything is fine so long as I don’t look up._

“Oh, this is so going in the next chapter.”

“What!?” Bastien lunged for the jar, ripped out of his peaceful contemplation by Varric's treacherous words. “So much for buying your secrecy!”

“Never trust a story teller,” Cassandra added, snatching the jar from a distracted Varric to add more to her bread, “They always lie. Especially this one.”

Varric sneered and was about to continue when Solas rapidly changed the subject, the shouting no doubt obnoxious to a man who’d spent Maker knows how long alone as an apostate.

“I couldn’t help but notice one of the wild Druffalo following you. It refused to depart until you actively pushed it away.” He sipped his tea and sneered before setting the cup down, “It did not seem to perceive us as a threat, at least, not after he saw you. Why is that?”

Bastien coughed into his tea as all eyes turned to him. “Uh, I’ve worked with a few animals before.” Bastien cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

“That is no explanation.”

“It is all I’m willing to give.” He murmured, more embarrassed by the story and the background of chores than anything.

Of days spent in his family’s stables trying to befriend that one wild stallion no one could touch, the same one he’d coaxed into taking Jean to the Conclave. Not to mention the several hours he’d spent coaxing the druffalo to allow him to even come close. His mother was always ashamed of his affinity for laboring with animals, stating it was no fitting place for a nobleman. Her level of shame only made him uneasy, as if it was something to truly be ashamed of. They had enough fuel to tease him; he didn’t need to add to it.

Solas paused, before nodding, “Fair enough.”

The group fell silent after that, each devouring their own food in turn. When they began to walk once more, Cassandra approached him, leaves crunching plaintively beneath her boots.

“Does it bother you?” She gestured to his marked hand. He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring at it. He flexed his palm, massaging the mark with his other hand, trying to undo the knot he felt in its center, to no avail. He shook his hand and dropped it to his side to rest on his pommel, much as he’d seen Cullen do.

“Not truly. It’s a bit… I don’t know the word for it. It’s like when you train and one of your muscles seize up, but in my palm.” He’s seen her train before, he wasn’t honestly sure the woman ever became sore.

“Ah, that is unfortunate.” She sighed, mimicking his posture as they strode down the narrow mountain paths. “But, you are alive, and the discomfort is tolerable, so we should be grateful for the small miracles.”

Bastien was a bit taken aback. He hadn’t pegged Cassandra as an optimist, in fact, many things the woman had done screamed to the contrary. But here she was, looking on the bright side while he was in a funk. He gave her a small smile, which she returned, and they made their way to the inquisition scout camp in a respectful silence.


	4. Awkward Musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bastien contemplates existence and sticks his foot in his mouth.

The ride back was substantially faster, attributed solely to the mounts granted them by horse master Dennett. Bastien was thrilled with his choice of the beasts; he ran an affectionate hand along the mare’s neck earning a snort in response. The lone piebald mare was of little value to master Dennett, but Bastien was enthralled by its color. The black splotches over its stark white fur looked like ink spilled over fresh parchment, and her mane looked like a starry sky the way it reflected light. This, in a farm that sold exclusively bay horses, was a flaw; but to Bastien made her the most magnificent creature in the pasture. Dennett had also mentioned the mare had quite a temper, and seemed fairly glad to be rid of the beast. 

A few moments alone with the animal and she’d become rather supplicant, pressing against his back when he turned to walk away and had even tolerated riding for the better part of the day. Part of that could be contributed to his high praises and rewards. Everyone loved elfroot and honey jam.   
He removed the tackle from the animal himself when they arrived, passing it off to a waiting servant. He spent the next few hours brushing down and pampering the beast until her head hung low and her breathing thrummed with its sleep. He smiled and placed a soft kiss against the beasts shoulder before silently slipping out of the pen. 

The time spent with the animal had not only served to strengthen the bond the two had formed, but had given him time to think. Templars and mages alike had attacked them unprovoked, and they were both heavily armed. The refugees were defenseless. They’d wound up spending the last few weeks in the Hinterlands, riding their new mounts and lending whatever aid they could. He’d lost count of the number of people they had managed to help, and it did wonders for his sleep. That or the fact they woke before dawn every morning and went to bed well past sundown after a long day of running, fighting, riding, arguing, and closing rifts with the strange magic that dwelt unwelcome in his palm. 

Closing rifts was an…odd experience. It didn’t necessarily hurt, just a bit of a dull ache after, but the process, Maker that was weird. Every time he thrust his hand forwards to close one, each time that magic reached from his palm and into the fade, he felt it. He felt his hand slide past, into the cold and slimy rifts, into the very fade itself. And then he would always feel the same thing, a tug, very gentle, but when your hand is swimming around in the fade you notice every last sensation. And then, he’d pull back against it, and the rift would snap shut, a loud crack followed by a sharp sting, numbing quickly to aching. 

The crowing victory had been the defeat of local mage and templar encampments. Without their forces so entrenched along the road, it should be safer for refugees to get to the Hinterlands, and eventually Haven. He only hoped that the forces left behind could keep them all safe. He also hoped he wouldn’t incessantly worry about them, but knew that was inevitable. 

But what about his siblings? He had a brother and sister, twins, yet still among the templars. Were they alive? Did they know that he was alive? Would they attack him on sight as well? Maker, he hoped they would not. Could he truly raise his sword to them if it happened? He shook his head rather violently, and heard a soft chuckle sound behind him. His head whipped around to see Cullen smiling at him. 

Bastien rubbed the stubble that had already grown around his jaw as he approached the older man. 

“Commander.” His voice was tired and thick, half stifled by a yawn. The last few weeks had really taken a toll on his sleep quota, especially since he valued keeping his journal up to date over the few hours he lost to do so. 

“Herald.” Cullen nodded in turn and shifted back, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword in his assertive, yet relaxed posture. “I meant to ask how you feel about your new title.” 

“It’s… Unnerving, to say the least.” He sighed and crossed his arms to keep from mimicking Cullen’s posture. Bastien caught himself staring, and forced his eyes to the ground. 

“Everything alright?” Cullen’s voice was gentle, as if talking to a child. 

And suddenly, Bastien was that child. He barely knew Cullen, but he was so much like Jean, so much like his eldest brother, the eldest brother he would never have the chance to speak with again. He wanted to tell him everything, to unload his weighty concerns, to ask him every burning question just like he would do to Jean. But he wasn’t Jean, and Jean was gone forever. All the unanswered questions, all the ridiculous arguments, none of it mattered anymore. He was on his own. He grit his teeth for a moment before he realized that the silence had stretched on for several minutes, Cullen being polite and quiet, but the concern growing clearer on his face. 

Alright Bastien, time to think of something clever, some kind of redirect, anything. 

“Actually, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering some questions.” Cullen seemed to tense, at least until after Bastien clarified that they were about templar life, something the man was very familiar with. He knew Cullen saw the change of subject, but blessedly let it go. 

His siblings had all joined, but they’d never truly regaled him with the specifics of the order, saying that if he was so curious, he should join. Even Jean had kept his secrets about the order. And here he had another wealth of knowledge at his finger tips, and he was determined to learn all he could. Cullen answered every question smoothly, walking among his troops as he did so. When they reached the end of the line, Cullen branched off on a tirade about the mage templar war, before cutting himself off with a soft laugh. 

“Forgive me…I doubt you came here for a lecture.” He grinned, a half crooked and incredibly charming thing that mimicked itself on Bastien’s own lips. 

“No, but if you have one prepared I’d love to hear it.” His grin widened. 

“Another time, perhaps.” Cullen cleared his throat, a gentle dusting of pink creeping across his cheeks. “I…uh…there’s still a lot of work to be done.” 

He tactfully changed the subject as a guard approached. Bastien’s cheeks were burning, how embarrassing. He gave a half wave, avoiding eye contact completely before darting into the woods. He pressed his back against a tree and rubbed his scruffy face with both hands, trying to rub the blush away. 

That had sounded like flirting, now that he thought about it. He hadn’t meant it that way, of course, but that was how it had been interpreted. He pushed a hand through his hair and huffed out a breath, pushing off the tree.

He wasn’t attracted to him by any means. Yes the man was charming, but the only reason he seemed drawn to Cullen was the similarity to Jean. The way he carried himself, the way he dictated to his underlings, even his mannerisms were so close to his older brother that it was difficult not to fall back into that little kid staring at his hero. 

He cringed. 

He would have to be more careful. 

And avoid Cullen for a while…


	5. People of Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chats about Haven. 
> 
> I promise it picks up soon! These chapters are a necessary evil.

“It occurs to me that I don’t actually know much about you.” Cassandra blurted as he approached. It seemed she’d been trying to work up to asking him, if the still uncomfortable clench of her fists at her sides was anything to go by, and settled with the charging bull approach. That was just fine with Bastien, he didn’t get subtlety well.

“What did you want to know?” He smiled, resting a hand on his pommel, a small smile on his lips as he tilted his head.

“I...I’m not sure.” Cassandra stuttering was a rather sweet sight; she was just Jean’s type. “Where are you from?”

She didn’t know already? He’d assumed Leliana had already done a substantial amount of research into his background before or during his trip in the Hinterlands, perhaps even while he was still unconscious in his cell below Haven. This was a nicer method of getting to know someone, that was for sure, and he felt obligated to answer.

“I was born in Ostwick. Most of my family still lives there.”

“Trevelyan is it not?” Cassandra wrung her hands, “A large clan and an… interesting coat of arms.”

 _Ah, so she had done her homework before this_. At least she had the decency to look at least a little ashamed of herself.

“Tell me, do you consider the Free Marches your home? Are you eager to go back?”

That…was an excellent question and one Bastien hadn’t let himself consider just yet. His mother and father were alive and well, though not on the best terms with him after a blatant refusal to join the templars a few years ago followed by several subsequent marriage refusals. At first they’d fought incessantly before it toned down to bickering, and finally just guilt and manipulation to try and make him change. They fought his choice every step of the way, and, in a way, they still were as was transparent in sending him to a conclave with the Templars. They still cared for him, but it seemed easier to just avoid them, as topics tended to float back to ‘ _Oh you would have been an excellent templar’, ‘easily a Knight-Commander’_ or _‘oh such a shame...’_ and _‘such wasted potential’_. Add to that the death of the only sibling he truly got along with and, well, there wasn’t much left there for him.

“I haven’t truly thought much about it. I’m needed here, so I’ll remain here until I am not. After that?” He shrugged, “I’m not sure.”

“It won’t be the same once you do.” She murmured, her gaze wandering to the distant, jagged horizon.

Well, that was cryptic. Bastien deflected the comment by asking a question of his own. If Cassandra was going to pry into his family life, he would do the same. However, her response to ‘get to know you better’ was substantially more guarded than his own. Why would he have any motivation other than reducing the moderate hostility she still regarded him with?

“Is there any harm in us becoming a _little_ closer? A little less…antagonistic?” His brow furrowed, he’d hoped for them to become amicable, if not true friends. They’d developed a rapport during their weeks in the Hinterlands, but the relationship was shaky at best. If they were going to be working together for Maker knows how long they should try and do better than that. Her curt reply informed him that his statement had been taken in a different light than he intended, and was about to reply, when Cassandra merely pressed forward, ignoring any potential comments entirely.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but he definitely wasn’t expecting was Nevarran royalty, or the apt summary of her entire history spanning the course of a minute. It took him a moment to process everything, trying to ignore the sting at the mention of a deceased brother.

“Once he was gone, so was I.” Her voice, usually so strong and so confident, was muted, subdued, sad.

Bastien cleared his throat and dismissed himself promptly, unsure of how to proceed, or even if he should, with the topic of her brother. He wasn’t even ready to discuss his own. He requested her to head to the chantry in a few moments for them to discuss their plans for Val Royeaux before stopping by his cabin to drop off his notebook and sketchbook. That done, he made his way to the chantry himself. No sooner had he passed Varric did he hear the shouting. Curses flew wildly among the horde, only seeming to grow worse as he approached. At the very center, stood a mage and templar, both casting blame about wildly for the Divines death.

He couldn’t remember anything, but he felt like he would’ve remembered that. A sword was drawn, Bastien was about to dive forward when Cullen intervened. The man knew how to command a room, that was for sure. Bastien squared his shoulders habitually as the man spoke. He approached as Roderick addressed him, reading to square off as well if needed. But, thanks to Cullen’s prompt intervention, it was completely unnecessary.

Once the crowd dispersed, he looked to the still arguing Cullen and Roderick, spoke his piece and ground his teeth against the Cleric's seething glare. He instead braced a hand on Cullen’s shoulder, shaking his head.

“Don’t let anyone riot while we’re gone.” He said on a sigh.

“The walls will be standing when you return.” Cullen grinned, “I hope.”

He was halfway through the Chantry when Josephine hooked his elbow with a gentle touch. He turned to face her, bowing slightly and followed her into her office. He shut the door behind him, per her request to have a moment of privacy.

“What is it, Lady Josephine?”

“Please, just Josephine.” She smiled, inclining her head. “I’d like to discuss your parents.”

He cringed, “Well, that was quick.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“What are your thoughts? Should we approach your family for their formal support of the Inquisition?”

That was not what he had expected. He thought about explaining how they are not on the best of terms, or of their blind and _devout_ support of the Chantry, but he merely shook his head. Let her reach out to them. If they chose to ally with him…. The Inquisition, then let them. His father adored politics, and his mother adored drama. If they did not want to be involved, then that was their choice, not his.

“The banns of my family are always clambering for status, honestly you’d think they were Orlesian…I’m sure they’d be overjoyed at the invitation, so long as there was something in it for them.” He tried to hide the sneer, but he knew Josephine’s people-watching talents picked right up on it, she did her best to pretend not to notice.

“Depends, how do they feel about gold brocade?” Her comment brought an involuntary smile to his lips, “While your lineage has made us more respectable, it is not quite so much as we had hoped. You _are_ from Ostwick. Orlesian nobles consider the Free Marches somewhat… ‘quaint’.”

“How could they not? Without any gold brocade or golden lions all about, how can we truly consider ourselves noble?” This brought a small laugh out of Josephine, one she stifled with the back of her hand. He began to blush, was this considered flirting? Maker he hoped not, that was very much not his intention.

“Oh, one more thing, Herald.”

“Bastien, please.” He smiled shakily, the title held a weight that sat uneasily on his shoulders and he wanted to hear it as little as possible. 

“Very well, Lord Bastien-“

“No, just… just Bastien.” He held up a hand to stop her and winced at the title. Only his house servants had ever called him such, and that only in the presence of his parents. He never really was one for protocol.

She stared at him a moment before sighing. “As you wish… Bastien. I wanted to thank you for your patience regarding the living situation. The accommodations in Haven are surely rough for someone of your birth.”

She didn’t mean anything personal by it, she was just trying to be polite, but he couldn’t help but be a bit offended. She made it sound like he was some frilly nobleman who couldn’t hold his own, yet he’d been camping for the last few weeks in a tent with a dwarf. Besides, of everyone in Haven they’d given him the softest bed, the largest house, and he didn’t have to share. What kind of man would he be if he _did_ complain?

“Haven is more than livable, Lady Josephine.” His teeth were a bit clenched, but he kept his tone level. He understood that Josephine likely had people complaining left and right, he didn't need to add to her stress. 

“Really? Well…” She seemed genuinely stunned, “If that is how you feel then, I thank you. Until later, my lord.”

He sighed, resigned to go as ‘my lord’ around Josephine, and headed off to the war room. Was that how everyone saw him? Some noble running around and playing a game with their lives? He’d need to figure out a way to change that perception, it was horribly inaccurate. Maybe Varric would have a suggestion?


	6. Val Royeaux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love describing food.

Well. That had been a disaster.

The group settled down in their booth, nestling in the furthest corner of the café so as not to be overheard. That, and to avoid the largest number of glares or lingering stares the populace of Val Royeaux were giving them. They all remained in a stunned silence until after the drinks arrived. It would take a little while for them to finish with the order of tiny cakes, so now was as good a time as any to discuss what had just occurred.

“So.” Bastien started, lifting his drink to his lips. The warm concoction slid down this throat, warming him through and through with its sweet and spiced flavors of cinnamon, apples, and honey. A bit of whipped cream and cinnamon stuck to his upper lip, recaptured by his tongue as it slipped along his upper lip. “That could’ve gone better.”

That was a gross understatement. The Lord Seeker had run off with the Templars, after having a chantry mother knocked out, and left Val Royeaux completely defenseless. The Templars were being led by a boorish, arrogant, insane man and he feared for them. He’d need to locate his remaining brother and sister quickly before anything untoward happened to them.

“I don’t understand.” Cassandra murmured, cradling her warm chocolate drink in her hands, picking at the stem of the strawberry adorning the cream. “The lord Seeker is nothing like this. Something is wrong.”

“Well, if we’ve learned anything from this it’s that the Templars have gone officially crazy.” Varric snorted as he took a large gulp of his ale, outright refusing to even try a ‘frilly Orlesian lady drink’. Bastien didn’t see how a beverage could have gender and he didn’t rightly care, it was delicious.

“Not necessarily, there was one up there who seemed to doubt.” Bastien shook his head, his shaggy hair falling over his face to be pushed rudely aside by his hand as his fingers raked through. “Maybe if we’d spoken up more?”

“Not in Orlais.” Cassandra scoffed, “You did everything you could have. I just wonder what could possibly be going on with the Lord Seeker.”

“I have a brother and sister still in the order, perhaps I could write to them? I need to see if they are alright, and it may give us some insight into what is happening.”

“If you could, I would be most grateful.” Cassandra nodded at Bastien.

“And what of the First Enchanter’s offer?” Solas stared down at the foam atop his drink, twirling the cinnamon stick in the gold liquid, “Surely you do not intend to completely discount the mages.”

Bastien paused a moment before sighing. _Why was this even his decision?_ He was certain asking Cassandra would only gain him a ‘Makers will’ comment, so he remained silent. Hopefully she would form her own opinions and see them to light if she found it necessary. Hopefully.

Their talks were interrupted by the delivery of the tiny cakes they’d ordered, everyone falling upon them mutely. Bastien had never been to Orlais before, and certainly never a large, gaudy city like Val Royeaux. He was determined, despite everything else, to see what the city had to offer. What better place to start than with the traditional things the place was famous for?

He took another sip of his spiced cider and reached for one of the tiny apple cakes, picking at the wrapper decorated with small red apples. The icing on the small cake was incredibly ornate. Small green leaves stuck out from a delicately crafted icing apple. It was a shame the cook had put so much effort into the finer details only for Bastien to destroy it in a moment. He stuffed the entire tiny cake into his mouth in one bite. The amalgamation of flavor on his palate made him close his eyes as he slowly chewed. The cake itself was moist and delicate, the icing not too terribly sweet with a slight hint of cinnamon and small bits of apple. He rolled it over his tongue several moments before reluctantly swallowing it.

When he opened his eyes, Varric was writing something down. When Bastien asked what it was, Varric murmured something unintelligible and stuffed the notepad back into his bag. Cassandra wouldn’t look at him, her cheeks slightly flushed as she picked at the icing of her strawberry cake. He glanced at Solas, the man was in an entirely different world comprised solely of tiny cakes, staring at three lined up in front of him trying to decide which to eat first.

They finished their drinks and platter of cakes before heading back out and into the city. They stopped by a few more stores, primarily art stores where Bastien picked up some colored inks and more charcoal, as well as a sketch book, the small  pad of paper he’d found wouldn’t serve long. They also entered an armory, where Cassandra behaved as enthusiastically as Bastien had in the art store. They picked up a few weapon schematics, Cassandra insistent that Harritt could craft it better, much to the displeasure of the owner, and went to leave the city.

A sharp whistle had Bastien shooting his arms out, blocking his companions from passing him as an arrow landed with a heavy thud a few feet away. He looked around, as did the others, but they saw no assailant. Cassandra was the most upset as Bastien approached the arrow, pulling it sharply from its place between the tiles and delicately removing the crumpled note that was attached to it.

“It’s a scavenger hunt.” He blinked, ‘find the red things’?

“We do not have time for such games.” Cassandra scoffed, letting her hand fall from the hilt of her sword to cross her arms. 

But Bastien and Varric were already walking away, a smirking Solas in tow, trying to find the ‘red jenny’ items.


	7. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A training session followed by a tough choice.

Bastien’s breath came out in heavy pants, clouding the crisp air before him with each exhale. He sucked in the icy air before lunging forward once more, his sword glancing the side of Cullen’s shield as the taller man blocked his attack. They’d begun sparing shortly after Bastien’s return from Val Royeaux the week prior. Cullen had been flustered and shy in asking him, but Bastien had emphatically agreed to the arrangement. He’d spared with Jean plenty of times, so he knew the templar’s form and how to exploit it. But Cullen, like Jean, was a quick study, and within a few sessions learned every trick Bastien had to offer.

Well, not every trick.

Bastien’s arm swung wide, carrying his shield away from him as Cullen’s sword sung through the air towards him. Cullen barely had time to register the act when the shield came back around, swinging forward and hooking around the sword’s guard and ripping it from his hand as Bastien spun, flinging it aside to fall uselessly into the snow a few feet away. Cullen stood there, stupefied, glancing at the shield, then his now empty hand, then to his sword’s imprint in the deep snow. He shook his hand and laughed.

“That is an excellent trick.” He walked over and began to rifle through the snow, trying to find where his sword had skittered off to. Bastien knelt beside him, doing the same, feeling a bit guilty he’d thrown it so far. But Cullen had put so much momentum into the thrust, if Bastien hadn’t matched it, they both would’ve been injured.

“And my last, unfortunately.” He sighed, hands dusting over cold steel and a worn leather grip. He lifted the blade and passed it off to Cullen.

“I find that rather difficult to believe.” Cullen raised an eyebrow at him as he dusted the snow from the hilt. “How did you learn to do that?”

“My brother taught me.” He went to rub the back of his neck, stopping short when he remembered his gloves were covered in snow. “Well, I used it on him first and he helped me turn it into an actual move. I had no idea what in Thedas I was doing at first, if we’re being perfectly candid.”

“Would you mind teaching that to the troops?” Cullen asked after only the slightest of pauses.

Teach the troops of the Inquisition his accidental move? Bastien blinked and flushed dark red, “Um… sure.”

He looked away, too embarrassed for eye contact. It was immensely flattering to have the commander of the inquisition ask him, _him_ , to teach something to the troops.  Cullen looked away and stood, sheathing his sword. “Ah, it seems we have trained longer than we should. I’m certain the others are waiting for us.”

Bastien followed a bit behind Cullen at first, breaking off when one of his guards, Tim he thought the man was called, approached with a report. He didn’t miss the harsh glances the man constantly gave him and would rather avoid a fight. He continued on through the Chantry and neared the back room when he heard them shouting.

“I do not care how much ‘influence’ it would gain us, we are not marrying off Lord Trevelyan!”

“Be reasonable, Cassandra,” Josephine’s voice tittered gently, “It isn’t as if I would do this without his express consent! I have not yet decided if this arrangement is even our best option, or when it would occur!”

“I’d prefer it if it did not.” Bastien stated as he entered the room, his cheeks burning. He held up a hand when Josie went to explain. “No, I understand the ‘why’ perfectly. I’m just telling you no.”

She sighed and murmured ‘very well’ as Cullen entered after him. They argued over mages and templar’s for far too long before Bastien straightened his spine.  

“Bickering will get us nowhere.” He shook his head before lifting his gaze to the trio, “I have written to my two siblings still within the order and, until they write me back with evidence to the contrary, the display in Val Royeaux implies that the Templar see us as a threat and will greet us as an enemy.”

“We can’t know what the Lord Seeker truly meant.” Cullen began, but Bastien interrupted with a raised hand.

“He made if fairly clear when the chantry mother hit the ground unconscious that he was not to be taken lightly. And his rather sharp words to Cassandra removed any doubt of what he thinks of the Inquisition.” Cassandra nodded her agreement, her eyes sad at the memory.  

“The mages, on the other hand, have extended us an informal invitation to come and speak with them. I’m not saying we jump directly to an alliance, but it is worth speaking with them at the very least.” Bastien continued unperturbed. The rest of the room seemed to contemplate a moment before resigning to his suggestion. They didn’t have time to wait for the templars to come to their senses with the world falling apart around them. He gathered Sera, Cassandra and Solas and headed out into the Hinterlands towards Redcliff.


	8. At First Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian finally makes his grand appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for Kudos and Comments. Constructive criticism is also highly welcomed!

He knew fade rifts were tricky but what in the Makers name was that? He’d never moved so fast, where as Cassandra, in a different green circle, seemed to be moving in an almost lazy dream like speed. How very strange. It closed like any other, with a resounding ache which didn’t truly feel any different. As soon as the rift was closed, his hand quieted down and they all pressed forward. And learned they were unexpected. He tried to clarify to the elven man that Fiona herself had invited him here, but the elf insisted that ‘Magister Alexius’ was in charge and would meet them momentarily.

The sudden appearance of a Magister in a time like this was a very bad sign, one which sent little shivers down his spine that had nothing to do with the wind rushing through the pass behind them.  And the man had taken charge already? What had the mages gotten themselves into?

The air coming off the lake was crisp, removing any warmth they may have gathered from the meek sunlight. The plants were all rich and vibrant, ignorant to the situation of the world around them. Bastien never thought he would be jealous of a tree. They did not care one way or another that they were surrounded by mages in the middle of a war so long as the flames stayed away from them.

 “I suggest proceeding with caution, these people are very desperate.” Solas warned in a low tone as they picked their way through the tavern.

He had never really been very comfortable with mages, so the walk between a small army of them was a very stressful experience. He’d never had a poor experience, or any experience for that matter, but he was raised in a chantry and templar heavy environment and had the words ‘abomination’ pounded into his skull at every turn.  His only long term exposure to mages had been Solas, and the man seemed irregular even by normal standards. He chided himself at the use of the word. There was no ‘normal’, there was this or there was that. Nothing and everything was normal. He pinched the bridge of his nose; that sounded like something Sera would say. She must have rubbed off on him during the three day trek to Redcliff.  

Regardless, Solas was an odd case. An apostate, never within a circle and no encounters with Templars, and yet he stayed with the Inquisition to help. Yes the breach affected him too but there were plenty others who stood by the wayside to let others handle it. Solas, instead, stood forward on the front lines to help. Besides, his stories about the fade made it sound like a wonderful place, not at all the demon wracked nightmare world he’d been raised to believe. How much had his parents warped in him?

They pressed the door open and approached Fiona, and were more than a little surprised at her surprise. They were still struggling to clear things up when the magister approached. Bastien felt a chill race up his marked arm but focused his attention to the magister.

“Hello, my friends, I am sorry I was unable to greet you sooner!” He beamed, forcing a smile on Bastien as well. They sat to the side and began to speak of an alliance when Felix, the man’s son, stumbled.

Bastien was to his feet in an instant, catching the man as he fell heavily against him. He guided him to the floor and did his best to hide the feeling of a scrap of paper being pressed into his hand; he tucked it away as the man stood to face his father, who'd gone ashen.

“I’m sorry, I just felt a little dizzy is all.”

Bastien had never seen a man rush away so quickly and within moments, they stood alone in the tavern with only a few patrons. He waited a moment to ensure the man was gone before pulling the note out of his pocket.

“Wassat?” Sera chimed, leaning over his shoulder.

“ _Come to the Chantry, you are in danger._ ” He read the choppy script quickly before sticking it back in his pocket, lest the magister came back.

“It is likely this is a trap.” Solas stated as simply as he would comment on the weather.

Bastien felt more than a little ashamed that the thought hadn’t even had time to cross his mind before Solas was alerting him. Was he fit to lead in any fashion if he was so quick to trust? He nodded in agreement and pushed forward. Could it not just be someone who cared if he survived this endeavor giving him a friendly heads up? But how likely was that, honestly, when you were in a town invaded by a magister enslaving the mages?

They followed the walkway up to Redcliff’s chantry and his hand began to flare, radiating heat up his arm. Excellent, there was a fade rift nearby. Bastien let out a sigh at the sound of fighting within and pushed through the doors, and froze in place as they slammed shut behind him.

A man stood at the center of the room, using his staff like a club, beating the absolute void out of two shades. Green flickered off his ink black hair as he turned to face the group. His vibrant grey eyes flickered green in the light of the rift, standing out against the warm tanned skin and something in Bastien’s chest did a little flip when they locked onto his. _Sweet Maker…_

“Ah, good. You’re finally here. Help me close this thing, wont you?” He smiled, a devilish thing that when combined with that velvety voice had an unexpected, but not at all unpleasant, affect on Bastien, a warm knot forming in his chest.

Ignoring the latest rhythm his heart decided to take, he dug a lyrium potion from Solas’ bag. He’d never seen mages exhaust their mana before, but he had read a few stories about how terrible and draining it felt, like their soul had been sucked out of them. He raced towards the man as the Rift prepared to flood them with the next wave, pressing the vial into the man’s palm. No sooner had the cool glass made contact did a demon spout up directly beside them, its wicked talons arching down towards the tanned man’s face.

Bastien dove in intimately close and raised is shield, the demons talons scraped uselessly at the metal. He turned his body to cover the surprised strangers before pushing back with his shield and shoulder, tossing the demon into a pillar with a roar. He drew his sword and held his ground, giving the man enough time to drink the bitter potion and feel its affects unharmed as the demon stood once more.

He lunged forward with his shield and caught the terror’s open mouth. Its teeth hooked viciously around the metal wall between them, venom dripping onto his armor. Bastien went around his shield with his sword, catching the demon off guard as the blade sunk to the hilt between its ribs. The demon screamed and flailed backwards, spilling blood all over the red carpet of the chantry as it dissipated into flecks of green, carried in an unseen wind back into the rift.

The rift cracked and spit more demons out at them, as well as several strange areas that altered the time around them. They spent what felt like an eternity defeating them before the rift opened once more. Bastien thrust his hand forward, smattered with the black blood of demons and exhausted, not ready for another wave after the punishment he’d taken guarding the mage, and snapped the rift shut. He hooked his shield back in place, rubbing at his palm as he approached the strange man, who was scanning the room where the rift had once been.

“Fascinating.” He murmured before turning his gaze back to Bastien, the flecks of silver in his eyes catching in the soft light and drawing too much of Bastien’s attention, “How does that work exactly?”

He waited for Bastien’s reply, but he had no idea how the thing worked. A fact that didn’t really bother him, until now. He blushed slightly and looked away from the man, feeling like an ignorant child. The man only laughed.

“You don’t even know do you?” Damn the man’s smile was charming, the beauty mark on his right cheek pulling up with his eyes, dragging Bastien’s along with it. “You just wiggle your fingers and BOOM, rift closes.” He still seemed rather impressed so Bastien smiled back. “Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself, I see. Dorian of house Pavus, most recently of Minrathos, how do you do?”

Bastien mimicked the man’s bow, heart skipping in his throat, proud of his words when they came out steady, if a bit breathy, “Bastien Trevelyan of Ostwick. Well met.”  

“Another Tevinter.” Cassandra sneered behind him, “Be cautious with this one.”

“Suspicious friends you have here!” He took a step closer and Bastien swallowed hard at the proximity, “Good thing they didn’t stop you from charging in so dashingly to save my life.”

Bastien almost succeeded in not blushing again. Almost. Why did he have to be a redhead?

“Magister Alexius used to be my mentor,” Dorian continued, stepping back once more, his fiery debonair tone switching to one a bit more serious.  “So my assistance will be invaluable, as I’m sure you are aware.”

“Are you a magister, as well?” The man cringed at Bastien’s question and sighed.  

“Alright let’s say this once. I am a mage from Tevinter but not a member of the Magisterium.” He said explicatively, monotonous as if he’d said it a million times and was very much tired of doing so. “I know you _Southerners_ use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.”

And Bastien felt an inch tall once more. He cringed inwardly even as he drew himself up taller. He was taller than this man by at least three inches, so at the very least he could look impressive, even if he felt like an imbecile. But Dorian hardly noticed the change, and his explanation of events left no room for doubt. Alexius’ arrival was far too convenient and he was far too in charge for this to be any sort of coincidence or act of benevolence. The presence of time magic caught Bastien’s attention.

“I wonder if we could undo the conclave.” He murmured, more to himself. Apparently, not quietly enough and Dorian sighed, a gentle, pitying look in his eye and a sad smile on his lips.  

“Unfortunately, no. It is far too unstable, though that is a noble thought.” Dorian paused, his gaze flicking to the side and clouding briefly before he shook his head clear and continued. His explanation of what could happen, should they fail to stop Alexius, gave them all a chill.

 “You’re asking us to take a lot on faith.” Cassandra sneered at the man.

Bastien had believed every word the moment they’d been spoken. The man clearly had some experience with whatever they were dealing with and knew Alexius well. If anyone knew what would happen, it would be him. Though, he was glad he had at least one less than trusting person in his group, Maker knows how much trouble he’d get himself into without a skeptic along for the ride.

“I know what I’m talking about.” Dorian growled, a sneer pulling at his sculpted features, “I helped develop this magic, though at the time it was still theory. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it… Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He’s not doing it for them.” A familiar voice added and Felix approached from the side. “My father has joined a cult, they call themselves the ‘Venatori’ and I can tell you one thing, whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

“And here I didn’t get him anything.” Bastien quipped, too tired to suppress the snide comment. He rubbed his palm.  

Dorian chuckled under his breath and the sound gave Bastien goose-bumps, “Get him a fruit basket, everyone loves those.” Bastien grinned at him a moment, then Dorian’s smile fell. “You know you’re his target. Seeing a trap is the first step at turning to your advantage. Alexius does not know I am here, and I want to keep it that way, for now. But when you deal with him, I want to be there.” He turned and grinned at Bastien over his shoulder, “I’ll be in touch.”


	9. In Hushed Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I live for the Kudos and Comments!

Bastien wished Cullen was a little less like Jean. He was a grown man, and if he wanted to walk into danger, to play the bait, then sweet Andraste it was his choice. But Cullen was not having it. He argued with the entire room, telling everyone exactly what his thoughts were on Bastien serving as decoy to a group of cultists clambering for his head. It was equal parts annoying and endearing, the man was doing it for him after all. Bastien grit his teeth.

Thankfully, Leliana had an idea. Bastien liked to think he prompted her, by mentioning an alternative entryway, but without her prior knowledge of the secret tunnels location it would’ve meant nothing. They had made next to no headway when Dorian burst through the door, striding in like he owned the place and inviting himself along on the mission. Bastien felt oddly reassured. This incredible man was charging forward without questioning himself, and Bastien truly wished he could have that kind of confidence. After a bit more arguing, and a promise to take Cassandra, they headed out back to Redcliff.

Alexius’ guards were less than thrilled that Bastien brought friends. He wondered how they would react to find that Dorian was drifting in the shadows somewhere nearby. He felt the claws of the trap closing closely around him as they advanced, surrounded by Venatori soldiers. At the back of the room, next to his father, stood Felix, who locked eyes for a moment as they were announced and greeted with a flamboyancy that made even Bastien distrustful.

Fiona stepped forward, demanding a say for her people. While he knew these talks were not truly going to happen, the woman looked terrified at what was occurring, of the danger her people were in. He invited her to join the talks as his personal guest, if to do nothing more than help her feel a bit more at ease. Though, if he’d truly thought about it, this likely would have made their ruse seem a bit more realistic. He wasn’t a strategist.

 “The Inquisition needs mages to close the breach, and I have them.” Alexius sat back down and tented his fingers, grinning down at the lot of them, gazing down his nose, “What will you offer in exchange?”

“Actually, I was rather hoping you’d tell me a little about my Venatori fan club.” Bastien crossed his arms and shifted back on his hip, “I heard they were dying to meet me.”

He knew he sounded arrogant, but something about knowing his forces, and Dorian, were hiding in the shadows gave him a surge of confidence. Alexius paled immediately, and Felix turned to face him.

“He knows everything, father.” Felix muttered at his side.

“Felix…what have you done?” Alexius’ attention shifted.

“Your son is concerned you are involved in something terrible, he is only trying to help you.” Bastien defended.

“So speaks the thief!” Alexius shouted, his voice echoing violently in the grand hall, fire flaring up in the hearth behind him as his mana surged in anger. Bastien resisted the urge to take a step back. “Do you think you can turn my son against me!? You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark – a gift you do not even understand – and think you’re in control!?” He stood and walked towards them as they spoke, gesticulating wildly with his hands, he fell to an eerie calm and eyed Bastien, “You’re nothing but a mistake.”

“You know what this is? Tell me, what is it for, what is it meant to do!?” Bastien stepped forward quickly, pausing just a few feet away.

“The elder one will come for you, and he will reclaim his mark.” The man growled; his wild eyes boring into Bastien’s made the blood grow cold in his veins.

“Father, listen to yourself!” Felix interjected, tugging on his father’s arm. “Do you know what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be.” Dorian stepped out from a pillar as he spoke, coming to a stop beside Bastien. A wave of relief crashed over him the moment he heard that hypnotizing voice, chasing the ice from his veins and replacing it with fire.

“Dorian, the Elder One has power you cannot imagine. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.” Alexius’ eyes nearly glazed over.

“That’s who you serve? Is he the one who killed the Divine?” Alexius’ gaze drifted back down to Bastien’s as he spoke, but the man did not answer.

“Soon, he will become a god.” Alexius smiled, “Mages will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the frozen seas.”

“Alexius this is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen!” Dorian pleaded with the man as he approached, “Why are you doing this?”  

“Stop it, father. Give up the Venatori, let the southern mages fight the breach, and let’s go home.” Felix pleaded to deaf ears.

“No… it’s the only way to save you Felix.” He turned a sad eye to Felix, lost for a brief moment before casting a violent glare to Bastien and his party, “Seize them Venatori. The elder one demands this man’s life.”

In the span of a heartbeat, the Venatori guards all fell dead to the floor, Inquisition soldiers taking their place in a flurry of motion and the clamor of armor on stone. 

“Your men are dead, Alexius. Let it end here.” Bastien implored, he didn’t want to kill a man for doing something stupid when he only did it to save his sons life.

“You…are a mistake. You were never meant to have existed.” As he spoke, Alexius pulled a charm from his pocket and it began to glimmer. Bastien stared at the dancing colors, hypnotized until Dorian shouted and cast beside him.

The next thing he knew, he was falling.


	10. Terrible Futures

He felt hands tugging on his clothes, his heels dragging against a stone floor, cold water lapping against his sides. The cold was what woke him, that and a soft curse. He groaned and tried to sit up.

“Finally. I was beginning to think I was going to have to carry you.” That velvety voice washed over him and he looked up and locked eyes with Dorian just inches away. _Maker’s breath he’s beautiful._ He sat up and glanced about the room, startled by his own thoughts as warmth crept to his cheeks. They were tucked against the back wall of a room in shallow water. If the track marks in the sludge were anything to go by, Dorian had drug him here from the center of the room.

“Thanks…What happened?” He groaned, rubbing his head against the dull throb starting up at his temple.

“I’m not sure. It-“

“Blood of the Elder One!” A man exclaimed, cutting Dorian off as both of their heads swiveled to see two men standing at the entrance to the cell.

“Where’d they come from?” Another shouted and charged them. Bastien fortunately still had his sword and shield and lept up to keep the two occupied while Dorian rained fire down on them from a safe distance. The instant they were down Bastien turned to check on Dorian, and saw him already lost in thought, tapping his chin.

“Displacement…interesting.” He murmured and Bastien set off to find a key to get them out of there. He knew little of magic and even less about magical theory and would be of no assistance to Dorian’s deliberations. It seemed he would have to do a substantial amount of grunt work. “It’s probably not what Alexius intended, but where are we? The rift must have moved us to…what…the closest confluence of arcane energy?”

Bastien pulled a key from one of the guards and walked back over to Dorian, not understanding a word of what he was talking about. The man was their best chance of getting back from… wherever they were.

“The last thing I remember we were in the castle hall.” He pushed his hands through his unruly hair, trying to get the slowly drying mass of it out of his face. Somehow, Dorian’s hair and mustache were immaculate, lips stuck in a slight grin; Bastien couldn’t help but trace the curve of his jaw as he continued to speak.

“Let’s see. If we’re still in the castle, it isn’t…Oh!” The man exclaimed, causing Bastien to jump at the sudden excitement, at the broad grin on Dorian’s face as he solved a piece of the puzzle and the electric shock the sight sent through him, “Of course! It’s not simply where – it’s when! Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!”

_Get it together, Bastien. Now is not the time for…whatever that was._

“Oh? Of Course? You say that like it’s some simple task.” But Dorian was already walking across the room to examine something else, “You seem a bit too excited about this, Dorian…but thank you. For countering it and, you know, not letting me drown in the muck.”

“Face like yours? We’d all be at a loss.” Dorian didn’t even turn when he replied, so he completely missed the dark red flush that crept up and across Bastien’s features. He turned quickly and splashed his way over to the gate, unlocking it with the found key and pushing forward.

They made their way to the top of a flight of stairs and pushed open a door. The room beyond glowed red, light radiating and pulsing like a heart from the stones erupting from the floor, cracking out little waves of electricity that snapped at Bastien’s armor.

“What is all this stuff?” He asked, taking a step away from it. Something about it made his stomach sink and a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.

“Red Lyrium. We shouldn’t get too close.” Dorian murmured. “If this is supposed to be some kind of infection, why is it coming out of the walls?”

“Are you sure you want to find out?” Bastien returned as he pivoted to leave, the room was a dead end.

They continued forward and were halfway back out of the room when Dorian fell, heavily, against Bastien’s shoulder. He steadied the man, eyes scanning the unnaturally pale face, and half carried him out of the room as quickly as possible.

“Are you alright?” He leaned Dorian against the cool stone of the wall but didn’t unlock his arm from his waist, as if somehow he could infuse his own strength into Dorian’s wavering frame.  

“Of course. I’m fine.” Dorian tried to stand but fell back once more, Bastien caught him easily. “Let’s get to the base of the stairs, shall we? I’d prefer to avoid breaking anything.”

Bastien shifted his weight so he supported most of Dorian’s and carried him to the base of the stairs, his heart fluttering anxiously in his chest. He knew nothing about medicine, if Dorian was sick, he had no idea how to help. Dorian’s breathing was ragged, his palm braced against his forehead as he tried to calm the pulse that fluttered against Bastien’s fingertips.  He tried to give Dorian words of encouragement, but what could he really say?

“You could always tell me how magnificent I am, that usually helps.” Dorian quipped as his breathing steadied. Bastien huffed a sigh of relief; glad the man was feeling better until Dorian pushed him out of the way and heaved his guts out onto the tile. He wiped his mouth and sent Bastien a seething glare, “If you tell anyone that just happened I will set you on fire.”

Dorian growled, but the heat was lost on Bastien. The color was back in Dorian’s face, whatever set him off was gone. He grinned, much to Dorian’s dismay, and laughed as the relief flooded through him.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better. C’mon, let’s get going. Sooner we get out of here the better.”

But it didn’t matter. Every corner they took was full of red lyrium, and one certain enchanter Fiona was literally turning into Lyrium. He’d left Dorian a few steps back for that part and was glad for it. He nearly vomited at the sight, as well as the strange pulses constantly coming from the stone. He stuck close, ready to spring should the man fall again. Dorian teased him mercilessly over it, but he could tell the support was welcome.

The fight at the top of the stairs was exceptionally violent as Bastien lashed out at the sickeningly helpless feeling that was clawing at his insides, eager for a fight, for something he could control. There was nothing he could do to keep Dorian from getting sick around the corrupted lyrium. And even if he hadn’t felt the drive to protect Dorian, without the man Bastien would be at a loss, stuck for the rest of eternity while those he left behind suffered under Alexius’ so called Elder One. He took out the remaining Venatori and pushed forward. The next room revealed one of his companions, and he rushed forward.

“Cassandra!” He shouted as he collided with the gate, his hands clasping the cold, weathered bars and wrenched them open. He froze at the sight of her, “Maker, you’re…”

Deep within Cassandra’s dilated pupils, he could see crystals forming; her skin radiated a sickly red glow as the red lyrium’s energy coursed through her. Her breathing was ragged and the sickening glow pulsed with her heart.

“You’re…alive?” Cassandra stared up at them, “Has Andraste given us another chance?”

Her voice was terrifying, like plates of metal scraping together beneath her normal Nevarran accent. Something was very wrong. Bastien knelt in front of her as she continued speaking.

“Maker forgive me. I failed you. I failed everyone.” She hung her head and wouldn’t meet his eyes. This was _not_ Cassandra. What had they done to her to make her this mewling, terrified creature? “The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life.”

“Cassandra you’re hurt. Tell us what’s wrong, maybe we can help you.” It wasn’t her fault, it was his. It was his fault for not listening to Cullen and going to see Alexius himself. And now, Cassandra suffered for it. Her gaze fell to the floor at Bastien’s words. When they rose back up to his, he saw a glimmer of her old self.

“Nothing you can do will help me now. I will be with the Maker soon.” She sounded so resigned, Bastien ground his teeth.

“Alexius sent us forward in time. It has been a year for you, but only a few moments for us. If we find him, we may be able to return to the present.” Dorian spoke gently behind him, staying a reasonable distance away from the large red lyrium crystal nearby.

“Go back in time?” Hope filled her eyes and she stood, Bastien followed. “Then…can you make it so that none of this ever took place?”

“That’s the hope.” Bastien smiled at Cassandra, resting his hand briefly against her shoulder before letting it drop back down to his side.

“ _Maybe_. It may also turn us to paste.” Dorian sighed from his position behind him, his tone flat.

“Yes, but you would make a lovely paste.” Bastien smirked, his humor flaring at the joy of finding one of the companions, even in poor shape, and turned his attention back to Cassandra, helping her replace her shield upon her back. He saw Dorian smirk slightly before turning to leave the room.He listened to the frightening tale of the last year as they began to leave the room. If Cassandra was here, that meant Sera was too. She must be terrified.

And she was. She refused to accept their existence. She kept backing away, terrified to the back of the cage, convinced they were demons here to torture her. Bastien was going to _destroy_ Alexius for putting his friends through this. And he was going to make him hurt. And _when_ he found this Elder One, Bastien felt himself growling as he ground his teeth, he was going to tear him to little pieces.

“Sera, it’s alright, I’m real and I’m not going to hurt you.” Bastien approached slowly but the girl only shrunk away from him. So he tried a different approach. “You got any arrows left? C’mon, let’s go stick Alexius with the pointy bit.”

Sera blinked, then grinned, a sinister thing before she replied, “Yeah… I want them to hurt.”

_Me too._

So much that it burned beneath his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long one, thanks for sticking with me!


	11. Control

Maker, Leliana looked horrible. The elegant planes of her noble face were ashen and shriveled, though her tongue remained razor sharp. He wasted no time getting her down from the rafters, bracing her when she fell against him as the chains released. He held her as she regain feeling in her shoulders and arms, her head swimming as the blood rushed through her weak and withered frame. When she was able to stand, he let her go. She didn’t even hesitate, didn't stop to wait for an explanation, didn't wonder at their presence, she just charged forward to grab her bow, ignoring Dorian’s explanation. 

His gaze slid to the blood stained torture implements on the table beside them,glinting wickedly in the torchlight. How many wounds were hidden beneath her robes? How much pain was she hiding? His fingers brushed the leather case and the breath rushed from his lungs when he found it slick with blood. 

 “I’m sorry, Leliana, I failed all of you.” He turned and looked at her, his resolve strengthened by the suffering of his companions. “But if we can find Alexius, if we can get his amulet, Dorian thinks he can make it so this future never happened.”

“This was never supposed to happen! This future wasn’t supposed to exist.” Dorian chimed in agitated, pushing a frustrated hand into his hair.

 “ _Enough._ I suffered, the world suffered. It was _real._ ” Leliana shot them both a look before turning and leaving the room. It shot through Bastien’s heart, a force so powerful he had to close his eyes against the sting.

He pushed off from the counter and followed her out of the room to take lead once more. They fought their way through the underground and the docks before pushing out into the courtyard. They all winced at the bright light flooding the space, eyes accustomed to the dark red glow from the lyrium.

It took the others understandably longer to recover. Bastien ground his teeth and swore upon every last dead ancestor, every last deity, that Alexius and his ‘elder one’ would pay for this as he watched the breach swirl in the sky. He would make them suffer, and that was not a thought that sat well in him. He’d never truly desired someone’s death before, yes he’d killed, but out of necessity. But he wanted Alexius to _suffer_ before he died. This… this was a raw, cruel emotion that threatened to consume him. His mark flickered in his palm, radiating a frigid shock up his arm, snapping him back. He clenched his fist, digging his nails into the meat of his palm. It was all the marks fault, all his fault, that any of this was allowed to happen. If he hadn't charged forward... If he'd gone to the templar instead... 

“The breach it’s…” Dorian trailed off, his voice calling Bastien back.

“Everywhere.” Bastien finished for him, trying desperately to ignore the large stone head of Andraste staring down at him, her hand offered forth, beckoning as pain radiated up his arm. His back was rigid, his pulse racing, ever muscle taut and ready to lash out. He needed only a target. 

“Don’t look up. Don’t look up…. Shit…I looked.” Sera whined, covering her face with her hands. Bastien took her hand gently and placed it on his belt which she gripped earnestly. She kept her eyes downward, focusing hard on the different plates on his back as she followed them up a flight of stairs.

The rifts opened unexpectedly, the only warning a sharp crack in his palm before the courtyard filled with demons. The mutual rage at everything that had transpired, and everything that _could_ transpire, made short work of the demons and the rifts. They had enough numbers to use the rifts own magic against its monsters. Cassandra would drag them with her chain into the slow fields where they would hack at them, while Dorian and Sera stood in the fast fields and whipped out magic and arrows faster than he’d ever seen.

They finally made their way into the bulk of the castle, searching room by room for Alexius. They opened one door and a young, familiar man burst into flames, consumed by a demon.

“Why did he do that?” Bastien murmured in a broken voice, his hand still outreached to the scorch mark Connor had left behind, “We could have helped him.”

“We will help him by making sure this never happens.” Dorian snapped and went to turn, until he saw the utterly devastated look on Bastien’s face. The man was taking every last death, every hit like it could never be undone, like every single one was his fault. Dorian was fairly confident he could undo the magic, but Bastien… He walked over and placed his hand gently between his shoulders, “He resisted that demon to the last.”

Bastien’s hazel eyes flickered green and his hands balled to fists at his sides. “We need to find Alexius. I will see him pay for this.” He snarled before turning on his heel and charging out into the hallway.

From then on, Bastien was unstoppable. He didn’t go down, despite fairly intense injuries, and he bashed his shield with all his strength, slamming people into walls with sickening force, kicking other walls down, all in a frenzy to get to Alexius. Dorian thought about calming him, but he was making substantial progress, so he kept a barrier on him instead, atop the man’s normal physical armor, guard and shield. He’d originally attributed it to a redheads temper, but when he saw the strain on Bastien’s face, he saw how deeply disturbed the man was by this possibly hopeless situation. Dorian almost joined him, it wasn't like this was all roses for him either, but he held himself back. One of them would need a cool head at the end of this.

If this ‘Herald’ truly was a good natured man forced into a terrible situation, and if the man truly intended to help all of Thedas by ending this war and closing that monstrosity in the sky, then Dorian would do whatever it took to help him. And the best way to handle a terrible situation: sarcasm, avoidance, and crass humor. And since their two companions were wheezing with every last breath, their lungs slowly solidifying with lyrium, it was up to Dorian. Every opportunity he had, he made a little joke, some small quip, anything and everything he could think of, regardless if it was raunchy or not. It was most definitely annoying Leliana, but he wasn’t doing it for her. Bastien seemed to lighten a little, at least he listened this time when Dorian shoved a health potion to his lips. 

“I think I know how we’ll open that door.” Dorian nodded as he turned the custom cut lyrium crystal over in his palm, musing while Bastien finished off the potion. He was grateful for its small size and refined state, the nausea was only minimal this time.

“Well, then it’s a good thing you’re stranded with me, isn’t it?”

 _Did Bastien just smirk? Blessed Andraste he did…_ and it was incredibly charming, Dorian could’ve kissed the man. _Maybe later, for now, Alexius. Oh, and getting back to our own time of course._

They placed the crystals in the door and it flew open, revealing a rather distraught magister on the other side with a figure crouched beside him. He seemed dejected, and not at all surprised Bastien and Dorian were there. He was about to surrender the amulet when Leliana appeared behind the crouched figure and held a knife to its throat. Alexius’ cry caused Dorian to start.

“That’s Felix? Makers breath, what have you done, Alexius?” Dorian went rigid beside him, grinding his teeth.

“Leliana, let him go! Felix is innocent!” Bastien shouted, he wouldn’t have an innocent, an ally, die for his father’s mistakes.

“No one is innocent.” She answered simply, dragging her knife harshly against the ghoul of a man’s throat, the blood gushing forward in a dark red tide. Bastien felt heat up the side of his face and turned to see flames leaping between Dorian’s fingers, tracing their way up his arm, shadowing his suddenly dark and twisted features.

Alexius was enraged and charged them, opening rifts as they fought. The battle was exhausting, the Magister reaching into his own life energy to fuel spells when his mana was drained and kept constant spells raining on them. Grief was a terrible thing.  When Alexius finally fell, Dorian crouched by his lifeless form.

“He wanted to die, didn’t he?” He murmured, “All those failures. He lost Felix long ago, and didn’t even notice… oh Alexius.”

Bastien put his hand on Dorian’s shoulder, “I’m sorry, I know you cared for him.”

Dorian deflected immediately, pressing forward now that the amulet was in his possession. He had no time to mourn dead friends or past mentors, not when they weren’t truly dead. Not when Dorian’s substantial magical talent was the key to their survival. A screech overhead rumbled through the walls, jarring loose stones and fixtures as they all froze and glanced at one another. Cassandra, Sera and Leliana shared a knowing look, the former two turning and walking towards the door while the later stayed to explain.

“It is the Elder One. We will fight.” She stated simply and turned to leave.

“What? No, you can’t go out there!” Bastien cried, his eyes panicked, stepping forward until Dorian touched his arm, “I won’t let you commit suicide.”

“You have as much time as I have arrows.” She continued walking, pulling an arrow from the quiver and stopping in the center of the room.

He reluctantly followed Dorian back to the dais, his eyes not leaving Leliana as the other man pulled him along by his elbow. He heard the screams outside, human and demon alike and knew his friends were suffering. He wanted to charge out there, to fight alongside them, die if need be. But he forced himself to stay put, his frame still as a trembling stone as Dorian began to cast his spell, until the door flew open, Cassandra’s lifeless form skating a cross to crash with a sickening crack against the steps of the dais.

He bounced on his heels, eager to charge forward until Dorian shouted after him, restraining him with his voice since his hands were too busy casting, “You move and we all die!”

“I can’t... I can’t let them die for me…” Bastien shouted, frozen in place before a hand closed over the collar of his armor and Dorian tossed him into the rift.

 They remerged in a flurry of magic, Alexius standing confused before them. Bastien wanted to tear him open, wanted to bash his face in, but a feather light touch against the inside of his elbow from Dorian stopped him from advancing. He shook with the effort to maintain control.

“You’ll have to do better than that.” Dorian grinned and crossed his arms, grateful for Bastien’s sense of control, he could see it straining in the pull of his features, the harsh set of his jaw, the tremble in his hands. He wasn’t certain he could be so understanding, were the tables turned. Then again there weren’t many he’d mind losing.

Bastien had to remind himself, none of that had happened. Not yet. He could still prevent it. He took a long, steadying breath that shook, his eyes boring into the now kneeling Alexius. He towered over the man, his shadow casting over the defeated magister. He struggled to keep his voice calm as his heart pounded in his chest and every muscle shook.

 “You failed, Alexius. How forgiving is your ‘Elder One’?” He growled through clenched teeth as the man was chained by the waiting soldiers and dragged off. Dorian went off to speak with Felix and Bastien immediately charged over to his companions, making sure each and every one of them were alright. They seemed a bit startled and confused at his panic and prodding, but there was no sign of lyrium within them. He sighed and his shoulders sagged, all the rage running off him in waves of relief, tears pricking his eyes, his throat burning. 

_Thank the Maker._


	12. Witchcraft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to the Storm Coast, gifts are given, Bastien encounters a confusing emotion he is almost certain is witchcraft.

With the rebel mages being directed by the Inquisition forces, Bastien decided to continue on to the Storm Coast to pick up the mercenary gang he’d been directed to go see by that ambiguous man. The entire journey, he stopped at every vendor Sera or Cassandra showed any interest in and bought them something. They were highly confused but accepted never the less, since his gifts were well chosen and something each of them had wanted.

Dorian watched the entire display with a seemingly apathetic eye. He understood the man’s drive to cater to them, he had just seen them die to save him after all. Of course, that did not stop him for teasing the entire journey, but Bastien took it all in stride. He must have siblings, Dorian mused to himself, older ones.

“If you keep spoiling them like that you’re going to be destitute by the end of the journey.” Dorian approached him as the two women hung back, each examining their own new trinket.

Bastien turned and looked at them as well, a small smile spreading on his face. For Cassandra, a book he’d seen her eying on the shelf but would never admit to buying, he even made sure to give it to her discreetly. And for Sera, a red ribbon for her bow, she’d snarled and said it was too girly, but he’d caught her running her hands adoringly over the soft, shimmering fabric.

“I know but, I can’t help it.” He looked back forward, smile still on his face, eyes warm and soft as he stared off towards the horizon, “And I know they have no idea why, maybe later I’ll tell them but for now I need to make them happy.”

Dorian laughed, admiring the man’s profile a moment before facing forward once more, “Fair enough.”

Bastien cleared his throat and reached into his pack, pulling out a small box and leaning over to press it into Dorian’s hand. “I grabbed you something, too. Without you, I would’ve been stuck there or died in any number of ways. So thank you.”

Unable to handle the awkward and anxious feeling constricting his chest, Bastien urged his horse forward several paces before letting it resume its casual stride. He was so very pleased Dorian had chosen to stay with the Inquisition, and not for entirely noble reasons. He found he was rather unwilling to part with the man’s smile, his laugh, or even his constant teasing. He smiled softly to himself as the anxious feeling softened into something warm, settling in the pit of his chest like a purring cat.  It was immensely confusing, but so pleasant he couldn’t bring himself to repress it.

 Dorian watched this bashful retreat, his own horse keeping at its leisurely pace. A small smile crept to his lips as he looked down at the small box.  It was a simple thing, made of pressed cream paper and tied with a vibrant aquamarine bow. He undid it carefully, tucking the lovely ribbon into his pocket before revealing the contents.

A small, thin piece of metal engraved with the traditional Tevinter serpents twisted around a jagged branch sat upon strips of soft cream fabric. Small, shimmering stones lit the eyes of the beasts, shining emerald against the brushed bronze. A second aqua ribbon stretched from a notch cut in the metal, the velvet soft and cool to the touch. It only took Dorian a moment to realize that it was a bookmark. He smiled, caressing the cool metal with his thumb and smiled over at Bastien, locking eyes briefly before the man pivoted and looked away. _So, he watched for my reaction?_ Dorian smiled, and tried not to read too much into it as he pondered the best way to tease Bastien, while also expressing gratitude for this very fitting gift.

  Bastien had watched him intently. He knew Sera and Cassandra well enough to shop for them, but he knew little about this man and had been at a loss. When he’d seen the bookmark, it all fell into place, it was perfect. Well, after he’d switched the ribbon from the gaudy yellow plaid one which had originally been in place. From the small smile that crept to Dorian’s lips as he looked at the thing, the softening of the lines around his eyes, the overall warmth of his features, Bastien was sure he’d made the right choice and smiled. When Dorian looked back up, a soft expression of gratitude and a smile on his face, Bastien’s heart did a dizzying flip and he spun round to stare at the trail. His heart was fluttering in his chest and he swallowed hard, taking slow, steadying breaths.

 _What is this?_ The strange warm feeling spreading from his chest left him feeling a bit restless an uneasy, he’d never experienced this before and had no idea what to do with it. Could it be some form of magic? A spell Dorian was using to have the members of the Inquisition accept him despite his being Tevinter? Did everyone feel this way or just Bastien? Cassandra didn’t seem any less suspicious of him. But if it wasn’t a spell, what could it be?

The path grew narrow as they made their way up the mountains, disabling any possibility of conversation until they reached the camp in the Storm Coast.  No sooner had they crested the last rise did they meet with the areas namesake. The ocean roared and crashed along the cliff sides, spraying water up against their already soaking armor. Bastien felt like a drowned rat within three minutes of the torrential downpour, the warm feeling left by Dorian’s smile stamped out by the icy pelts of rain slamming against his skin.

 They picked their way through the rain slicked paths and eventually emerged at the angry shoreline. A fight was already underway and they joined in immediately. The entire fight with the Venatori, Bastien’s eyes kept flicking over to one specific figure.  _That, well, that is a Qunari_. Bastien had never seen a Qunari before, though he’d heard some rather horrifying bedtime stories courtesy of his mother, of wicked horned beasts stealing away mischievous children in the night. Fortunately, from what Bastien could tell, the man was on their side. Thank the Maker, that axe he was swinging would’ve cut Bastien’s horse in two.

The Venatori fell until the last lay flat against the rocky shore, thick tendrils of blood swept away by the rain and the tide. The very large-or perhaps he was normal sized-Qunari approached him with a large grin on his face. He ordered his troops to stand down, addressing a very familiar face before he turned to face Bastien.

“You’re pretty wicked with that shield.” He laughed, clapping Bastien on the back and almost sending him flying, “We should spar some time.”

 _What a terrifying thought_. “That sounds great.” He coughed, trying to casually suck the air back into his lungs.

“So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Thanks for showing.” The Qunari stated in a tone no different than if he’d invited Bastien to lunch, “Take a seat, drinks are coming.”

“I assume you’re Iron Bull?” Bastien asked as he followed the man to a large fallen tree.

“Yeah…the horns usually give it away.” He grinned and sat down, Bastien stood in front of him. With the massive man sitting down, Bastien was eye level with him, an advantage he was unwilling to give up. “I assume you remember my Lieutenant, Cremessius Aclasi?”

“Nice to see you again.” The man inclined his head politely, speaking briefly with his boss before departing and being called a bastard, “Least a bastard knows who his mother was, puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

Iron Bull only laughed before redirecting to business. Bastien had originally been concerned that his newest potential ally was a Qunari, fearing something may occur between him and Dorian, the current resident Tevinter. But, seeing that his lieutenant was also a Tevinter, his concerns were almost immediately abolished. It wasn’t long after that he confessed to being a spy. Bastien was obviously taken aback, but agreed that hiding something like that from the Inquisition, especially Leliana, wouldn’t last long and it was better to go in knowing that. He agreed readily, more inclined to get the hell out of there and somewhere dry than anything. Large storm clouds gathered in the distance, grumbling their displeasure. It was getting dark, and they needed to get back to camp before nightfall.

 


	13. Eye Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bastien is afraid of thunder and Dorian uses blood magic to keep his hair immaculate.

“Krem! Load up, we just got hired!” He roared.

“But what about the casks, chief?” The man whined, “We just opened them up…with _axes._ ”

“Find some way to seal them. You’re Tevinter, try blood magic.” Bastien tried not to snort at the twisted expression this statement put on Dorian’s face. It honestly reminded him of his brother’s after trying dwarven ale.

He motioned for them to follow back to camp. It was a long and slippery journey, one that ended with Bastien on his knees sliding in the mud more than once. They led their mounts on long leads, letting the beasts pick their own way up the slippery slope.  He pushed his hair out of his face, smearing mud from his hands onto his forehead and into his hair and he sighed, sitting down on a rock at the top of a hill, his mare pushing against his back before contenting herself to graze.

“What a miserable place.” He grumbled, wiping as much of the mud from himself as he could against the lush grass, his horse sniffing at his hair before snorting on him. He grumbled and glared up at her before rubbing his face in his now clean palms.

“At least the rain has the courtesy to wash your armor for you after you fall.” Dorian added in a less than helpful manner, his expression primarily disgusted at Bastien’s display with the animal.

Bastien looked up at him, his retort dying in his throat. The man looked immaculate, only the slightest amount of mud on his boots. How in the Makers name had he managed that? He looked at Cassandra and Sera, each of them a bit less filthy than himself, but still filthy, then back to Dorian.

“What?” The man’s eyebrow slowly raised as Bastien continued to stare.

Bastien shook his head. “Blood magic.” He grumbled, wiping his hands in the grass once more before standing and heading over to the camp. Dorian burst into laughter as he followed, the melodic sound sending odd little sparks along Bastien’s skin. The sensation and subsequent questions were soon drowned out by a loud clap of thunder. Bastien’s shield and sword were in his hands in an instant, shoulder up and ready to fight, but the storm settled off in a low rumble. His heart fluttered in his chest and he pushed forward, weapon still drawn.

Cassandra, thinking he saw something she didn’t, drew her weapon as well. Bastien was more than a little embarrassed and, even as the color crept up his neck, he replaced his weapons. He caught Dorian smirking at him and only flushed darker, his stride growing wider as the camp passed into view. He tied off his mount and spoke with Harding for a moment before walking over to one of the tents. Sera and Cassandra had claimed one, which left the other for himself and Dorian. He hoped the man wouldn’t tease him the whole night. A lot of people were afraid of thunder and lightning. He also hoped this little dance his heart had begun doing in the man’s presence wouldn’t keep him awake.

He walked over to the outcropping next to the tents entrance, placed there to hang boots and armor to dry without tracking too much water into the tent, and shook his head hard, casting tiny droplets of water about him. He pulled off the pieces of plate and set them in the rain to be washed, the leather would only get soaked as soon as he stepped outside again so he didn’t see harm in letting it stay wet overnight. Even if it did degrade the hide, it was worth that risk to keep the plate from rusting thanks to the salty spray from the sea. He began to remove his tunic, but caught the gaze of a few inquisition soldiers and decided he should do that inside.

Removing his boots, he stepped gingerly inside in his still soaked tunic and breeches. Dorian was already tucked into his bedroll, though he was sitting forward and reading some damp book that had likely been in his pack the entire trip. Bastien was immediately concerned for his journal, would the ink run in the rain? Quickly peeling off his sopping wet tunic and hanging it just outside, he let the flap fall closed with a wet slap and began to dig through his bag, ignoring the crisp air that pricked at his rapidly cooling skin.

He pulled his journal out, the clothing he’d wrapped around it had absorbed much of the moisture, and his journal was only a little damp. He wouldn’t be able to write in it tonight, but at least the thing itself was alright. He let out a long sigh and left it out of his pack in the driest corner of the tent, next to the small flame lantern that rested there. Of all days to not be able to write in his journal, today was the worst. Yes his friends were actually fine but he’d seen them die, seen the world torn to shreds, seen what would happen if he failed. It sat like a cold pit in his chest, waiting to be processed. But that would have to wait another night. He’d attempted writing on the road, but it had been far too jarring on horseback and his penmanship had suffered for it so he was forced to stop. Besides, it was very difficult to process something when Sera kept asking questions about what you were doing.

Dorian watched his every move, or rather, watched the muscles beneath his skin shift with every motion. Even the smallest gesture on Bastien’s part involved several of the taught muscles spread across his back and torso, his skin stretched tightly even relaxed. His eyes followed the trails left by the droplets of water falling from his messy crimson hair as they raced down his body, raising little bumps as they cooled the warm colored skin. Sweet Andraste he could stare at this man’s back forever.

At least he thought so, until the man turned around, standing to thumb through a small book. Bastien raised his hand to push his dripping hair out of his face and Dorian saw at least five muscles flex and respond to the movement. He knew, as a warrior, the man would be fairly built, but Dorian was a bit caught off guard by just how _well_ he was formed. His broad chest tapered to a narrow waist with those damned muscles at his hip and a trail of hair dragging his eyes lower.

Then Bastien walked past him to set the small book near the flame, concern on his rugged features. Dorian felt the very unprofessional urge to reach out and run his palms across the stubble just to see how it would feel against his skin, perhaps against his neck, maybe over his back or… Dorian forced himself to stop there. This was not a train of thought conducive to sleeping.

When he looked up, Dorian was staring at him. Bastien felt warm color slowly spread from his ears to his navel and he cleared his throat. A small towel rested against the opening and he dried himself quickly and tossed on a fresh, though damp, shirt. He shivered as the cold material touched his already chilled skin and swore under his breath. He dug around for a pair of pants to change into and finally found them resting at the bottom of the pile. He stood and began to unlace his pants, with his back to Dorian. Something about the man’s stare embarrassed him, but he didn’t think it would be polite to leave just to change his pants. Besides, it was Dorian or the entire inquisition camp and a thunderstorm. He’d stay in here thanks.

Dorian considered reciting an old and dry preservation spell in his head as he watched. He knew it was a bit rude but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It would be an injustice not to memorize every pale scar that traced his tanned skin, a crime not to remember the way his muscles shifted beneath it, and it would certainly be blasphemy to not thoroughly enjoy the way the blush spread from his cheeks to his navel. He saw Bastien hesitate and shifted in his bed, turning his back to the man and continuing to read. Well, pretending to read, in his mind he was still staring at Bastien’s shirtless form, trailing his eyes on the curve of his hips where the pants, soaked and heavy, hung deliciously low. _Finally, a good use for that photographic imagination of yours, Pavus._

A glance over his shoulder showed Dorian was looking away. Without hesitation, for fear of wasting an opportunity, Bastien quickly changed into the cold, slightly damp pants and let out a hiss though his teeth as the material pressed to delicate areas.

“I know; they could have at least found a way to dry our clothes before we returned.” Dorian commented, proud of how stable his voice was. “I dried your bedroll, at the very least.”

“How?” Bastien wondered as he made his way to his dry bedroll, soft warmth radiating from it. His minute knowledge of mages left him wanting. What all were they capable of? How convenient it would be in life to be able to light a fire with a thought, or levitate something away with your mind, stitch a wound shut with a wave of your hand, provided they weren’t all locked up in circles mages could’ve had an easy life.

“Blood magic.” Dorian stated simply before looking over his shoulder at Bastien’s un-amused stare and bursting into laughter.  “I am a man of _many_ talents. It was a muted fire spell.”

Bastien began to join him, reveling in the sound of Dorian’s laugh echoing in the small space until a loud clap of thunder sounded overhead. Bastien crouched until his knees hit the ground, his head ducked as if waiting for a punch. Dorian watched the whole affair with a mild curiosity. When it began to rumble off, Bastien cursed under his breath and slid into his surprisingly warm bedroll. He let out a pleased hum.

“You’re very welcome.” Dorian chimed, marking his place with his brand new and beautiful bookmark before setting his book off to the side.

 He leaned over and went to dim the lights when he noticed the book resting beside it. He wondered why Bastien had been so concerned for its welfare. He opened it and thumbed through gently, careful not to tear the damp pages, Bastien somehow already fast asleep. _Ah, a journal_. He grinned to himself and was swearing to steal it later to read when a sound like a tree splitting in half outside of their tent made even himself jump. Bastien rocketed upright in alarm, only to hear the slow rolling away of the thunder. He fell back on his bed with a heavy sigh and a defeated laugh. He glanced over and caught the curious look from Dorian, who had, rather quickly, replaced the book and was leaning towards the light.

“You’d be afraid of lightning too if you ran around with a giant metal plate on your back.” He grumbled, tugging the covers back up to his chin and rolling away.

“Fair point.” Dorian gave him a soft smile and extinguished the flames. Bastien’s breathing quickly fell back into a slow, steady rhythm. If he was going to wake every few moments in fear, at least the man fell asleep quickly. But Dorian, on the other hand, lay awake listening to the thunder of rain against the leather. This place was miserable. So he allowed his mind to wander to happier, shirtless thoughts. He knew it was probably a bad idea to go down that road in actuality, but he was more than happy to entertain it theoretically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me thinking about the next chapter: HUHUHUHUHUHUHU  
> You guys are in for a cute treat <3


	14. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter. 
> 
> I know its a long one, but I couldn't see a good way to break it up!

Dorian woke from a rather raunchy dream to the sound of movement outside, unsure of when he’d fallen asleep in the night. An unfamiliar weight pressed against his back, a heavy arm across his waist tugging him closer. Gentle puffs of breath traced against the back of his neck, sending delightful little shivers over his skin. He blinked, trying to get the cobwebs from his mind.

Thunder rolled outside and the figure twitched, Dorian feared a moment he would wake, but what happened was far more detrimental. The figure merely pulled him tighter against his solid frame and buried his scruffy face deeper against the back of Dorian’s neck before settling once more. The rough bristles sent wonderful little sparks down his spine. They felt far better than he’d imagined, than his mind had assumed in his dream.  Part of him was convinced he should wake the man, but the more devilish part didn’t want this to end.

The tent smelled like earth, not earth exactly, but something like it. Perhaps oakmoss would be a good comparison, with something sweet mixed in, as well as the less than pleasant smell of horse. It wasn’t until the cobwebs began to clear from his mind that he realized the one wrapped around him was emitting the scent. All the time they’d been near one another and he’d never noticed. It was surprisingly comforting, and Dorian wanted to soak in it. But, that would not end well. A murmur against the back of his neck made his already awkward morning issue a bit more awkward as the figure shifted.

Thunder clapped outside and Bastien shot upright, blinking hazily, trying to wake up quickly and failing miserably. He was a very heavy sleeper, and truly waking up usually took him a while. He’d been so warm, his comfort rendering him almost catatonic, but the cold was slowly sinking its way back into his skin. He wanted to flop back into his bed and go back to sleep. The rain outside the thick leather above him thundered heavily, meaning it was raining even harder today. _Excellent_. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and rubbed them as he yawned widely.  

Dorian took this opportunity to sit up himself, stretching his arms out as he looked about the tent. He’d somehow made it into Bastien’s bed, but how? Had Bastien moved him or had he switched beds in his sleep? He was still considering this when Bastien jolted, seeming to finally notice the other mans proximity. By the time Dorian’s eyes locked with Bastien’s, a deep red blush was firmly in place, the rouge of his cheeks making his wide, rich hazel eyes sparkle. It stood out wonderfully against the tanned skin, the shaggy red mess of morning hair brushing the man’s nose only made it more apparent.

Dorian smirked and shifted carefully over to his own mat, pulling his book back from where he’d tucked it. Perhaps reading about the more delicate aspects of necromancy would help remove his morning issue, at least until Bastien was out of the tent and he was able to dress in tighter, less revealing clothing. His bed was cold as he pulled the covers over his lap, immediately missing the blissful warmth beside Bastien. Dorian hated cold.

Bastien was dumbfounded. How in Andraste’s name had Dorian wound up in his bed? He pushed a hand through his hair, gripping the shaggy locks in his fist as he tried to pull the memory forward but it remained locked in the hazy dream state of sleep. He crossed his legs and rubbed his cheeks once more, he was not awake enough for this. He should have warned Dorian that he tended to cuddle in his sleep. He didn’t do it on purpose, by any means, but it was something he’d known for several years now.  Somehow, he always wound up in someone else’s bedroll, which was why he usually had his own tent. Apparently, in his sleep, he’d pulled Dorian into his.  But how should he apologize for it?

“Herald?” A woman’s voice interrupted the silence of the tent and Bastien stood, grateful for the distraction, and opened the tent flap.

Dorian watched him speak to the woman. He was still flustered, his hair all a mess, the imprint of Dorian’s shirt still on his cheek. He allowed himself a small smile at the man’s expense, spreading to a grin when he imagined the face on the poor defenseless woman on the opposite side of the tent as Bastien gave her a rather charming smile completely by accident. Dorian did not envy her. That still languid and messy from being in bed look was one of Dorian’s favorites. On others, not himself of course. This poor creature had no idea what effect he had on the so called ‘fairer’ sex. He’d watched women tittering as Bastien strode past, speaking excitedly to Varric or Cullen most frequently, watched them blush and fan themselves before ducking back into their holes. It served as decent entertainment in their boring so-called fortress before their departure for Redcliff.

Bastien followed the woman out of the tent and Dorian seized the opportunity to dress in something far less revealing.  By the time Bastien returned, all the red was gone from his cheeks and he was freshly soaked and looked rather sour. He grabbed his journal and wrapped it tightly in a dry sheet, stuffing it at the very bottom of his pack.

“Why the dour face?” Dorian mused aloud, his own bag already packed, awaiting word to go out into the downpour.

“Bandits attacked one of our patrols in the night. I’m heading out to deal with them before we head back to Haven.” Bastien shouldered his pack and in two strides was back at the exit, “Harding found an amulet that will let me challenge the leader. All goes well; I’ll own them by the afternoon.”

And with that, he pushed out of the tent. Dorian snatched his pack and rushed out into the downpour. Bastien was already at his mount, fastening the pack to his horse’s saddle.

“What? Alone?” Dorian glanced at the displeased expression of Cassandra, Sera likely still unconscious, and was affirmed even as Bastien swung up onto his mare, directing her haughty steps quickly out of the camp. Dorian scoffed and grabbed his own mount, leaving his pack on so as not to lose time and immediately followed after Bastien. He waited until they were well away from camp to ride up along side of him. Bastien drew his horse up short and she let out a plaintive snort, hopping briefly before calming beneath his hands.

“Dorian, go back to camp.” His voice was stern, which just so happened to be Dorian’s favorite tone to disobey.

 “Not a chance.” He didn’t stop his mount, sidestepping around Bastien and continuing down the slick path, saddle creaking as his weight shifted. He didn’t understand why he was being so stubborn, but the trait came naturally to him and he’d rather not fight it.

Bastien kicked his horse until he was alongside Dorian, “I have to challenge them alone.”

“Fine then, fight them alone, but I’m still coming.”

“This isn’t a game. They killed an entire patrol last night while we were _sleeping_!” He snapped, guilt apparent in his eyes. Dorian wondered how the man had survived this long when he took everything negative as his fault.

"And you plan to take them alone?” Dorian scoffed, “How about this, you stop complaining and let me accompany you and I won’t tell anyone I woke up in your arms. Sound fair?” Dorian didn’t even look back, steering his mount around another outcropping.

He heard the scrape of the mare’s hooves, followed by another plaintive snort, as Bastien pulled sharp on the reins but he did not stop. There was no chance Dorian could be swayed. It was one attribute his father always despised, he was so damned stubborn. Only a few steps later, he heard Bastien’s horse slowly gaining on him, he slowed and allowed him to resume the lead as they picked their way through the coast.

“Ugh can we get away from the water?” Dorian groaned as they rattled their way along the loose stone shore, the waters roiling angrily beside them. “I’m feeling seasick already.”

“You can always turn back.” Bastien grumbled, but led his mare further from the shore regardless. A little piece of him was happy Dorian had joined, but the greater part of him was terrified. His own life was one thing, but Dorian’s… If they attacked him Bastien wasn’t sure what he would do. A sudden cacophony resounded before them and Bastien grabbed the reins of Dorian’s mount and spurred them behind a tree, dismounting quickly and telling Dorian to do the same.

"What the devil are you on about?” Dorian chided, only to be hushed. And then he heard it, the rhythmic stomping of a dragon’s taunt, a deafening roar before it attacked, and a second roar, followed by a thundering crash of stone.

Bastien stilled the flustered mounts and peeked up over the edge of the massive fallen tree they hid behind. He motioned for Dorian to come and see. In the path ahead, a giant was fighting a dragon. Dorian shook his head and looked again, but his eyes had not deceived him, there really was a dragon fighting a giant. He nearly laughed. He looked up at Bastien’s face and smiled, the man had a grin like a child in a toy store with unlimited gold. It was the least strained he’d seen him since they met, it was a very attractive change and he was startled by his own urge to kiss those smirking lips.

  _Watch yourself, Pavus_.

They watched the battle rage on until the giant fell and the dragon, with one final roar, took off. They tucked themselves and their mounts tightly in the tree line as the beast passed overhead. Once she was gone, they remounted and continued on their way down the soaking wet coast as if nothing happened, turning just short of the giants corpse.

When they finally reached the Hessarian stronghold, Bastien held the amulet out before them so it would be observed well before they dismounted, defending their mounts from any possible harm so long as they survived. They bowed slightly and opened the gates, allowing him to enter and challenge the leader. Bastien hated that Dorian was there, despite the moral support. Walking into this possible shit-storm was one thing, bringing Dorian with was a whole other, not that he'd had much choice in the matter.

But the Hessarian's kept their word, and the man who’d ‘earned his place’ fell quickly beneath Bastien’s sword and several wicked bashes from the shield. The man fell to the ground, his face unrecognizable, and Bastien stood tall, turning to face the approaching men. He took a few steps to the side, his shield ready to defend Dorian if necessary, a motion not lost on the other man. But they respected his victory and, yes, just like that, the Blades of Hessarian were his. They mounted their horses and bid farewell to the blades and made their way back to camp, everyone more than eager to get out of this sopping hellhole.

Honestly, Bastien wondered if he’d ever be truly dry again. His fingers and toes were pruned in his gloves and his boots, his shoulders chaffed from the rubbing of wet armor, and his hair stuck to his face in the most annoying way. He glanced back at Dorian and was convinced the man used blood magic to keep his hair immaculate. Or at the very least a barrier. Cheater.

Thoughts of Dorian brought him back to the way he’d woken up that morning, a faint blush creeping to his cheeks. Sure it had been odd to wake up with a man in his arms, very odd, but that wasn’t what embarrassed him so much. He’d shared a bed with his brothers before, with friends as children, so it wasn’t the first time he’d woken _next to_ a man, but it was the first time he’d woken with one wrapped so tightly in his arms, his face buried in their hair and loving the scent that lingered there, the warm fit of them against him. What embarrassed him was how comfortable he’d been, how much he wanted to huddle back in that tent and resume the posture, mixed with Dorian waking up before him.

“OOOH he’s thinking somethin dirty!” Sera bellowed, shattering the silence and scaring the mounts even as she leaned forward hard on her saddle to stare at his face.

Bastien only blushed harder and cleared his throat. He straightened his spine and pushed his horse forward faster and away from her prying gaze. He stole a glance at Dorian, the man only had a small smile on his lips as he stared out into the forest around them. The serene and slightly mischievous expression made something in Bastien sigh.  

 _Maker, preserve me_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the bookmarks, comments and Kudos!! They make all of this worthwhile!


	15. Let's Get Wasted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bastien only has one coping skill, and he cant use it. Whats the alternative? Let Bull and Varric get him drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one, sorry!

“So then Rosey walks right up to the Nightingale like he owns the place- and this is right after he woke up, mind you- and says ‘No killing! Find another way.’ And she _does!_ ” Varric bellowed before taking a long swig from his mug and gesturing to Bastien as he walked into the tavern,  “Ah, here’s the bravest of us all now.”

“Gotta say kid that took guts, even I don’t think I could stand up to the spymaster.” Bull shook his head and took a deep draft of something foul. Bastien’s nostrils stung just smelling it.

Oh, they were talking about _that_ incredibly awkward moment with Leliana. He sat beside Varric and picked up the hand dealt to him, refusing to bring up that he’d just gone to see said spymaster. To thank her profusely for her sacrifice in that horrible backwards reality, and to give her a rose quartz nug figurine he’d found in Redcliff. He’d also had to repeatedly and vividly explain what had occurred in that horrid future while the rest of the inner circle took notes, every last detail rolled fresh in his mind.

“What’ll you have, Rosey, the first ones on me.” Varric gestured the waitress over.

“Oh, nothing, no thank you.” Bastien gestured wildly with his hands, nearly showing his cards. “I need to function after this.” His journal was finally dried and he had a _lot_ that needed written down. Surprisingly, the future wasn’t the first thing to pop into his mind. Dorian was.

“Kid, you’ve just come back from some twisted alternate reality where the bad guy wins and everyone dies, _then_ spent a week in the soggiest place on earth. I’m buying you a drink either way, tell me what you want and it won’t be Dwarven ale.” Varric raised an eyebrow and was about to utter the words when Bastien blurted out an order of fairly expensive blackberry mead.

Bull whistled, “Hey if you’re not paying for it, gotta get the good stuff.”

The drink came quickly, as well as an awkward comment about being ‘served’ by the waitress that had everyone hooting at the table and Bastien hiding behind beat red behind his cards. He grabbed his cup and took a heavy swig, pleased at the gentle warmth radiating from his chest with the sweet blackberry flavor. His journal was in his room, safely settled near the fireplace to ensure it would be dry enough by this evening. They’d only been back a night, one very hectic sleepless night clouded by nightmares and unsorted thoughts.  He needed his journal to be dry, he needed to write in it, needed to process everything that had happened. But as he took another long swig of the mead, he thought this might work just as well.

They made it four rounds, and six mugs, before the conversation took a vulgar turn. Bastien had made the mistake of asking about Qunari love lives, and if they didn’t marry, did they have sex. He’d realized recently that this was just some fable made up by his mother to keep her baby pure, but he was still curious. This earned the table a tale of the Tamassrans that would ‘pop your cork’, not to mention a fairly vivid description of how. Bastien tried to imagine such a world, and only wound up blushing.

“But here you have redheads.” Bull took a leisurely sip of his drink and smiled at Bastien, “Mmmm…Redheads.”

Bastien laughed at the statement and took another drink. His gaze slid over to Bull, “I don’t think there are _that_ many redheads here.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t care what they’re packing in their trousers, isn’t it?” He winked at Bastien.

It took him a moment. A brief and alcohol clouded moment but still, the instant it connected what Bull was implying, Bastien’s skin burned. He was certain the blush reached all the way to his navel and he tore his gaze away, fixing it on the swirling contents of his own mug as he gripped it for dear life. Iron Bull erupted into laughter and slapped his hand hard against Bastien’s back, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

“Don’t tease the poor kid.” Varric defended weakly, his words slurring slightly as the waitress came over and refilled all of their drinks. Bastien contemplated for a moment if it would be wise to keep drinking, his mind already beginning to slur, his cheeks already flushed, but the horrifying image of that future, of the sickening crack of Cassandra’s head on the steps, flashed into his mind and his smile fell hard, ending as his drink was pressed to his lips and downed in three swigs.

The cards lay abandoned on the table not long after, Bastien swatting Sera’s hand away when she crept over to try and rob him of his winnings. She stuck her tongue out at him as he stuffed the coins into his pocket. He didn’t know how long they stayed there, but at some point Varric had fallen asleep. He and Bull sighed and stood, sort of. Bastien wavered on his feet and fell back in his chair, Bull held his ground much better. Bull laughed, low and rumbling and lifted Varric over one shoulder, earning a grumbled complaint from the dwarf. Bastien started to giggle, bringing his drink to his lips once more, frowning as Bull took it away from him. 

“Trust me, kid. You’re gonna feel this one tomorrow.” His tone was soft, his smile surprisingly gentle. 

Bastien stood to protest, but the earth tipped beneath his feet and next thing he knew he was slung over Bull’s other shoulder, staring at Varric’s sleeping face. He felt sick, all the mead in his belly sloshing with each step Bull took, each press of the massive shoulder against his stomach. He groaned.

“Don’t you dare.” Bull growled, stepping out into the icy cold.

At least, it should have been cold. But Bastien was so drunk he barely felt the caress of the winter chill against his burning cheeks. He murmured something unintelligible and Bull set off for Varric’s tent. He must have dozed for a minute, because the next thing he knew he was leaning against a snowy tree. He blinked and looked groggily around, his eyes drifting shut for a moment, opening slowly once more as he scanned his surroundings. Someone was approaching from a distance. He shifted to try and stand but a massive arm curled around his waist and hefted him back over a thick shoulder.

But where was he? Who was carrying him? He hated being carried. He began to struggle, pushing against a corded back of grey skin as he tried to pull his legs around. When that didn’t work he twisted, ending up on his back staring up at the stars and groaning as he continued to struggle.

“Sit still, would ya?” The deep voice grumbled but Bastien still kicked and struggled, eventually dislodging himself face first into a snow drift.  He heard muffled voices, and an audible sigh as something pulled at his ankle. He hung, upside down, face to…lower with Dorian. The man crouched and gave him an exasperated look once they were face to face. _He’s so beautiful._ Bastien wanted to reach out and touch his face, to run his fingers through his hair, but he couldn’t, his arms wouldn’t respond, flapping uselessly at his attempts.

“Was it truly necessary to get _this_ drunk?” Dorian pressed, Bastien attempted to nod, but it only made the stars blur together with the snow and that was most definitely not a good idea. His reply was a barely audible groan. “Do put him upright before he spoils the atmosphere.”

Bull turned him slowly, but to Bastien it was entirely too quick and he felt his stomach lurch in response. He was no longer having fun and just wanted to be sober. Or more intoxicated, either one would suit him just fine at the moment.

“I don’t think more drink is wise.” Dorian grumbled. At Bastien’s half panicked stare he sighed and, rolling his eyes, stated, “No, I did not read your mind. You spoke aloud if that can be considered speaking.”

Bull still held him upright, despite his best efforts to sink to the ground. The snow was perfectly comfortable, why did they insist on dragging him on? He glanced at what he assumed to be Varric’s tent and made a feeble motion to get to it, desperate to crawl onto the ground to make the world stop spinning, but Bull held him firmly in place. The two other men are talking, he could tell that much, but shortly after it’s heard, he forgets it.

Suddenly, he’s floating. He’s not entirely sure how he learned to levitate, but his new skill is slowly but surely carrying him towards his hut. That is a good idea. His journal is there and he needs to write in it. He tries to lift his hand but it stays stubbornly lax at his side. He grumbles and closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, he’s been mostly undressed and is bundled up in his blankets. A mug is by his bed and he sits up quickly, managing to stay upright long enough to down the contents. Only after the large mug was drained did he realize it was water. He sneered at the contents and fell back onto his pillow.

A shadow fell over his closed eyes and he cracked one open to see Dorian refilling the water. He must have voiced his displeasure at the contents because Dorian grinned.

“You will thank me in the morning.” He purred. No, it just sounded like a purr to Bastien. He swallowed thickly and his eyes fell closed once more. Why would the man not let him keep drinking? How was his voice so incredible? Why would his arm not respond to his command to trace the lines of his perfect face?

“I know self destruction when I see it.” He felt a weight shift on the bed as Dorian sat beside him, he wanted to curl up against him but he was too heavy. “I don’t need to ask what’s wrong, I was there as well. If it’s any consolation, I think I would have done the same in your shoes.”

His eyes opened slowly and fixed on Dorian’s profile as the man stared thoughtfully off into the fire, light flickering in his eyes. He was gorgeous. Bastien silently decided Dorian’s nose was his favorite part of the man’s face. Thankfully, he managed to keep the thought from blurting out of his lips.  The fire danced against his features, the glow making his already warm skin radiate. Bastien wanted nothing more than to bury his face against Dorian’s neck.

 “I had confidence I could do it, but you had to take me, a stranger, at my word. You had no reason to trust me, but your life, and those of your friends, depended on me. I am sorry I could not inspire you to trust me, but I must add that none of what we saw was real, none of it happened and I did get us back, rather flashily too.” Dorian grinned.

Bastien groaned. He wanted to tease him about his arrogance, no matter how well deserved it was, but more than anything he wanted to tell him he was wrong. He did trust Dorian, and Bastien didn’t doubt they would succeed or at least find another way back. His tongue was thick in his mouth and he couldn’t bring the words to pass, so they flew through his brain instead. _No, you are amazing, you are wonderful, you are beautiful, I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?_

“Yes yes, I know, I’m so modest.” Dorian stood once more, unaware of Bastien turning towards him, and removed a book from the mantle and began to thumb through the pages. “You’re handwriting is immaculate….Is it truly so vital to write everything down?”

“Really bad things…” He swallowed and tried to think, too tired to be embarrassed that the man was reading his journal. His lazy gaze centered on Dorian’s mouth. “Helps. Iron Bull…doesn’t…” He groaned, the massive Qunari had cheered him on the entire way even after Varric passed out.

Dorian laughed, closing the book with a snap and setting it back in its place. “Sleep, you’ll forget all this in the morning.”

“Th…thanks...you...thank…” He pressed the heel of his palm against his eye. “I couldn’t’ve…would’ve died… you--”

“Hush. You can sing my praises in the morning.”

“But, I want…I want to…” … _kiss you._  Within seconds, Bastien was unconscious.


	16. Closing the Rift

Bastien fidgeted uncomfortably in his armor. All the mages had lined up behind him, ready to pour their mana into his mark to seal the stupid hole in the sky. Dorian had left some foul concoction that had done wonders for his hangover on his nightstand, but his tongue still stuck to the roof of his mouth and his head still ached. It was worlds better than this morning, but still a miserable state. He tried desperately to steel himself, to hide his weakened state from Cassandra, but the woman was a Seeker after all, and after giving him a firm lecture and accepting his wholehearted apology, they’d set out. He may be a bit delirious still, but he couldn’t sworn he saw compassion there, beneath the ire. She was starting to remind him of an older sister, not his older sister, mind you she would never treat him this way, but how he always imagined an older sister should be.

_Why hasn't she answered?_

Her anger had turned to Varric and Iron Bull, blaming them entirely for the matter, despite Bastien’s attempts to intervene. Apparently, in Cassandra’s eyes, he was too innocent to have done this to himself. He shot an apologetic look to Bull and Varric as Cassandra turned her rage on them. Varric he pitied, but Bull… not so much. He vaguely remembered the way he’d been tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour; it was not a fond memory. He also remembered his desperation to kiss Dorian the night before, silently grateful he’d been too drunk to act on it. He glanced over at the man where he stood on the raised surface, a small smile creeping unbidden to his lips when the man smirked down at him. A small gesture of his hand and he felt something akin to a warm breeze slide over his skin. His head no longer ached, and his mouth felt normal, all evidence of the previous night removed. He nodded his appreciation and Dorian smiled wider. The perfect curve of those perfect lips, the creases of his eyes, the flicker of mischief-

Cassandra barked the order and Bastien stepped forward, snapping back away from thoughts of Dorian’s smile. He took a deep breath and steadied himself, heart racing, and raised his hand towards the giant rift before him. The mark lit his veins to flame like never before and he winced against the pain, his teeth clenched and grinding. He watched the violent green lines trace up his arm, his shoulder, was sure they followed his neck, and when his vision took on a green haze he was certain his eyes were glowing. Everything _burned._

He took another step despite the pain, boots crunching on burnt stones, and slipped his fingers into the cool slime of the rift. He felt for the sweet spot, the only bit of firmness, but this time, it pulled back hard and he slid forward several feet. He dug in his heels and leaned back, all of his strength consumed with the act of standing still. He ground his teeth and pulled harder and felt something pull, he was only vaguely aware of Cassandra’s shout and Solas’ command.

Instantly, the mark exploded with power. The burning began to subside, leaving an electric tingle in its wake as the power of the mages flowed through him to his hand. He gasped for air, struggling to draw it in even as the power consumed him, filling him to the brim until he thought he’d spill over.

And suddenly, Jean was there. A wisp of himself, legs faded like a spirit, smiling at him. He felt more than heard the words of encouragement, saw his oldest brother’s smile, warm and comforting like when he was little, and his eyes burned, tears falling to leave cool trails against his burning cheeks. The specter stood beside him, reaching his arm to stretch alongside Bastien's, it against his. Bastien felt the rush of strength it brought as keenly as he felt the knife twisting in his chest as his brother smiled down at him. He nodded once, clenched his fist hard, and pulled.

_Goodbye, Baby Bastien._

The snap rocketed them all backwards, but Bastien’s stance was braced against the pull and after a slight shift, he was fully prepared for the blast. He heard others hit the ground but the mark had warned him, he’d been the only one to get his balance. Not that it mattered, the moment the mages left the ground their mana stopped, and he sank to one knee, gasping for air, desperate to fill his lungs even if it was just with ash and flames. Tears flowed freely now, smattering against the burnt stones, rapidly dissipating in the heat. _Oh Jean… Don’t leave me. I still need you, now more than ever._

He felt a hand clasp him on the shoulder and recognized the Seekers boots. He raised a hand to show he was fine and Cassandra raised a cheer. Soon everyone was cheering. Bastien looked forward, Jean had been right in front of him just moments before, but now he was gone.  _Jean, please, Maker, no you can't leave me. I cant do this._

_But was it real?_

“Cassandra.” He rasped, clearing his throat. The woman knelt by his side. “Did you see that man?”

“What man?” Her brow drew taught.

“Nothing. Never mind.” He shook his head and wiped his face, forcing himself to stand. If that had been his brother’s spirit, then he wants him to press on, to continue. And he would. He had to. Even if it wasn’t, even if it was a cruel demon's trick, what choice did he have?

~~~

Haven was full of life. Music played, everyone sang, drink flowed readily, and smiles were plastered on every face. Bastien sat on the overhang by Varric’s tent, journal in hand, not quite in the mood for such revelry, but aware he needed to be present. The mark was the quietest it had ever been, and for that he was grateful.

  _I am unsure if it was an illusion of the fade, my own insane hopes, or reality, but I saw Jean, Maker I felt him there. He smiled, like he always had, he encouraged me, I felt him there with me. Even with the mages I do not know if I could have accomplished such a feat. I am grateful for this final visit. In some ways, this was my only chance at a goodbye. Perhaps I should be grateful. With this mark-_

He looked up as a figure plopped down beside him followed shortly after by the clink of glasses. He looked over at the bottle and the two glasses, then at Dorian as he poured. He was no longer surprised by the comfort the man’s company brought and he grinned widely, welcoming the sudden rush of peace and warmth.

“I’m fairly certain you were the one who saw me piss drunk the other night.” Bastien raised an eyebrow, “And that you were the one who said more drink was a bad idea.”

“That was then.” Dorian pressed a glass into Bastien’s hand.

 “And?” He looked at the bottle, a golden rose was the only indication of what it could be.

 “And you just sealed a massive hole in the sky and lived to tell the tale. Not to mention the rather unexpected appearance of that spirit. I dare you to tell me there is another instance which demands good wine more.” He raised his glass and Bastien raised his mutely, though he didn't drink. 

“You saw him?” His voice was brittle. 

“Yes. Though I imagine I may have been the only other one. The rest were focused on the breach itself, not the man charging to risk his life to save us.” Dorian sounded a bit miffed at that, but took another sip of his wine. When he continued, his tone was delicate. “Who was he?”

Bastien hesitated, his brow drawing together to brace against the sting, as if saying it aloud would make it true and keeping it inside would hold out some insane possibility his brother would come back. _But he never would_. It was time to say it aloud, to accept what had happened. “My eldest brother, Jean. He died at the conclave.”

A hand rested against his shoulder, warm despite the cold air around them. “I’m sorry, he seems very dear to you.”

“He is.”

Dorian nodded and smiled, raising his glass. “To Jean then. Drink, I promise you will like it.”

 With a wary look to Dorian, he ventured a sip. He held it on his tongue for longer than was necessary, the cool liquid’s delicate flavors slowly melding and shifting. He took another small sip and felt oddly comforted, his heart felt lighter. He looked over at Dorian, who simply smiled in a way that implied he knew exactly what Bastien was feeling. He took another small sip and returned the smile before setting the glass down to replace his cap on his ink, clean his quill, and set his journal aside to dry a few moments. _So, Dorian had seen Jean as well._ That was actually rather comforting, to know his brother had truly been there, had given him strength one last time. He smiled softly.

“I would be lying if I said I hadn’t come here for selfish reasons.” Dorian admitted after a few moments of silence between them. Bastien laughed softly, perfectly content with any possible reason Dorian would have to be near him. “I have to ask, what does it feel like? To use that mark and close a rift?”

Bastien tried to find the words to explain it, settling on the primary sensation, “Cold and slimy. The rift is, at least, the mark feels like fire. When I reach in its like… I don’t know... there’s something on the other side reaching for me, pulling me towards it, and if I’m not strong enough I’ll get sucked in.”

“And the mages giving you their power?” Dorian leaned forward, eyes intense.

“Stifling.” Bastien shifted uncomfortably at the memory, “I couldn’t catch my breath, like each of their hearts were beating against mine. I thought I was going to burst.”

“How miserable.” Dorian murmured, but his eyes still sparked with interest.

“But then it settled, about the time when Jean showed up. My heart remembered it was in control, my lungs remembered how to draw breath, and my blood began to sing. It felt like little sparks of electricity were dancing on my skin, but it wasn’t painful, not that part anyway.”

“Fascinating.” Dorian sipped his wine, his eyes locked on the marked hand. “I wonder what it would have felt like if you were a mage…”

Bastien smiled and removed his glove, one of them should at least get some form of enjoyment from the thing. He held his hand out to Dorian, who quickly took it and began poking at his palm while Bastien continued to sip his wine. He stifled the sigh that arose as Dorian’s hands slid against his. The man’s hands were warm and soft and his heart did a little flip. It was not a reaction he’d been expecting but he was rather proud at his ability to hide the reaction from Dorian.  He turned to watch the examination, eyes locked on Dorian’s relaxed features, the occasional twitch of his eyebrow as a thought arose, the small shake of his head as it was rejected, the sheer intensity of his eyes. Just as his muscles began to relax, just as he began to feel truly at peace, he heard the distant sound of marching, the sound of a horn in the distance, and then the bells began to scream.

Dorian’s hand froze on his and they glanced at each other. Cullen ran into view, barking something about an attack as he passed, leaving chaos in his wake. Without a moment’s hesitation, Bastien and Dorian split, each running to grab their own equipment. They rejoined at the gate with Cassandra and Sera, following Cullen down the steps.

“Never a dull moment with you Southerners, is there?” Dorian grumbled.


	17. Haven

_The templars are coming to kill you!_

Bastien swore as he cut down the opposition, clearing a path for the citizens of Haven to escape behind the central barricade. The templars? This was their response to helping the mages? Were his siblings out there? Maker he wished they would have replied to his letter. 

  _T_ _he elder one is angry you took his mages._

He sneered, _the elder one_ had been responsible for all the chaos he'd experienced in the future, all the suffering of his friends, he'd destroyed everything. He would never forget that monsters face, red shards protruding from his cheeks, skin draped like weathered hide across his chest, fingers ending in wicked claws. Something in the back of his head had screamed in recognition, but he couldn’t place it.

But none of that mattered now. They had to leave the keep to fix the trebuchets. He’d helped Cullen with them enough to know what must be done, but fortunately he was able to focus on the fight, allowing the scouts to focus on repair. The first few men who approached were obviously templars, as Cole had said, but fresh monstrosities approached in their wake. Were the twins alright? Or were they caught up in all this mess?

 _What in Andraste’s name_ …

Spikes of raw red lyrium shot from the hands of the beast, singing through the air and clanging violently against his shield. Cassandra would be fine, but neither Sera nor Dorian had a proper shield to protect them from the corrupted lyrium. He needed to take this monster out now. Even as he hacked away at the beast, he was grateful Varric wasn’t there. The man would’ve shit a thaig if he saw these monsters.

A quick duck and weave with his shield opened a soft spot in the shell of the creature and Bastien sunk his blade in deep, causing it to hiss and scream before it fell. The trebuchet secured, they moved on. Bastien kept his shield up in front of him, the slick surface drenched in crimson, dripping from the rim and falling hot against the now fresh falling snow. A monster landed in front of him after jumping the fence and Bastien slammed his shield so hard against its face that it became nothing but a memory and a spray of blood arching against a fence post.  He kept pressing forward, reassured by the familiar warmth and weight of Dorian’s barrier on his skin.

The second trebuchet took substantially longer, the scouts having been slaughtered, forcing his group to both repair and fight. But even after it was cranked, Bastien kept turning it. Dorian kept him covered in a barrier, trying to figure out where in Thedas he was aiming even as he did his best to keep himself alive against the onslaught. When Bastien pulled the cord, everything was clear. Cassandra slew the last templar and they all turned to watch the boulder slam into the side of the mountain. Bastian bounced on his heels because it _had_  to work, otherwise he just wasted so much time. So much precious time.

The mountain roared its displeasure and unleashed its swath of snow. The mass of it tumbled down, extinguishing flames and lives alike. He simply had to hope his siblings weren’t caught up in it. He knew that in the grand scheme of things their lives were not worth the entirety of Haven, but the thought felt sour in his stomach and weighed heavily on his heart.  Dorian jogged up to the now approaching Bastien and clapped him on the shoulder and for a brief moment, Bastien let himself feel relief. He smiled back at those glittering silver eyes, beaming with joy and relief, and felt himself turn to jelly. 

He turned his face to the falling snow, it melted against his burning face, in the steam of his breaths, and his shoulders sagged. He looked down from his perch to the mess that was Haven. He'd made a dent, but the soldiers were still fighting, people were still dying. He needed to get back to work. He turned on his heel and was about to race back towards the gate when he froze in his tracks, eyes tracing a large shadow moving quickly towards them. 

The roar that shook the earth was far too familiar of his time in the future, snapping every muscle to attention as it reverberated off the mountain valley, followed by the Archdemon itself.  He tackled Sera and Dorian out of the way, tucking them into his chest just in time as the beast destroyed the trebuchet. His shield deflected most of the rubble, but the larger logs slammed hard against his back, knocking the wind out of him, though he maintained his protective stance. He wouldn't allow Dorian to be hurt. When the last impact subsided, he shakily rolled off of them, unable to get himself up for a moment. Cassandra grabbed Dorian by the wrist and hauled him to his feet while Bastien recovered his breath and all but carried Sera as they ran back towards Haven. They needed to get everyone to the Chantry.

As they sprinted through Haven, Dorian realized what a beast Bastien could truly be. It was easy to forget he was a powerful warrior when his eyes flicked away and his cheeks reddened in embarrassment. But as the cries of trapped villagers reached his ears, even the larger monstrosities didn’t slow him down. Every last foe fell quickly and violently to the ground before him in an unrecognizable blob of flesh and spattered blood. Every last villager saved despite the toll it must have taken. Dorian only grew more concerned when Bastien readily accepted the last health potion for himself, wincing as he downed the contents.

Cullen raced up to them the moment they entered the Chantry, pulling Bastien off to the side to speak in low, hushed voices. Dorian watched a hopeful desperation light Bastien’s features, strong and bright and beautiful against the utter defeat on Cullen’s face. When Cullen fell silent, Bastien continued, his stance imploring. But then, it faltered. Dorian would very much like to know exactly what Cullen said to the young man that caused all light to fall from his face. In the short time he’d been in Haven, he knew Bastien idolized the other man, he followed him around like a lost puppy. He hoped Cullen had at least chosen those crushing words wisely.

The strange boy from before approached them excitedly and their expressions switched after the brief exchange with a dying man. Cullen began imploring Bastien, but Bastien refused to look the man in the eyes, his features carved in grim resolution. Cullen’s hand braced against his shoulder a brief moment before he turned to gather the villagers, calling everyone to follow him.

Bastien approached them all and stood tall, his shoulders squared, his features more serious than Dorian had ever seen. He looked so much older. “I am going back out, one last attack against this ‘elder one’ and his Templars. Cullen will be taking everyone through the mountain pass Roderick has been so kind to finally divulge the location of. Follow him and you will reach safety.”

Cassandra’s scoff spoke for all of them. Bastien looked to them all, somewhat surprised. “You know this will likely end in our deaths, right?”

“This monster is welcome to try.” Cassandra growled.

“I’ll put an arrow right in his tit face.” Sera sneered.

“Not if I have anything to say on the matter.” Dorian twirled a finger in his mustache.

A slow smile gradually turned to a grin as Bastien looked at them all and laughed. “Alright then, let’s go make them work for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the Kudos and Comments! You validate me!


	18. Corypheus

The explosion from the dragon’s breath knocked them all off their feet. They scrambled to their feet and Bastien ordered them all to run as he turned back to the trebuchet. It only needed one more-

Another explosion rocketed him back, tumbling several feet before coming to a painful stop. He braced himself on all fours a moment, his gaze locking on a lithe figure moving in the flames, at that somewhat familiar monster, as the rest of the world spun around him. He felt the blood trickle hot against his face, saw it drip steaming into the muddied snow beneath him. He spit out a rather large mouthful of it before forcing himself to stand as the silhouette approached him.

The sneer on its vile face sent chills rocketing down Bastien’s spine. The skin which stretched like hide over his features crinkled in the heat, moving of its own will as the creature approached. The ground shook as the dragon skipped to a landing behind him, baring its dripping fangs all too close, its acrid breath rolling like a tide through the air. He took several steps back, suddenly cornered between two equally daunting monsters. He intimately felt the loss of his sword and shield, cast about somewhere after the last blast.

“Enough!” The monsters guttural voice echoed in his head, making it ache. “ _Pretender_ , you toy with forces beyond your ken no more.”

“I am not afraid of you.” Bastien growled through bloodied teeth, not truly believing the words himself. He was terrified, but he was not going to hold back. 

“Words mortals often fling to the darkness, and are always a lie.” The monster sneered, blood began to trickle from Bastien’s nose from the pressure of this creatures words in his mind.

“What are you? Why are you doing this?” He snapped, slowly inching his way towards his shield. He had to keep him talking and buy time for the others to escape.  

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are….what I was.”  He smirked, “Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus.”

The Elder One, the one responsible for that maddening future, the horde of demons, the death of his friends.  Bastien dove for his shield only to have it knocked far from his reach by a timely spell. He turned and sneered at the monster.

“You will kneel.” The figure turned languidly towards him, seemingly offended at Bastien’s attempts to fight back.

“I will never kneel to you.” Bastien sneered. The dragon inched closer and he snarled, his heart racing, his instincts telling him to run. But he had to keep him talking. “This doesn’t make sense! What you are doing will destroy the world, the world you and I both live in! I don’t understand!”

“Your understanding is not required. If you gain it, consider yourself blessed. I am here for the anchor, the process of removing it begins now.” Corypheus paid him no heed and reached out an arm, his magic swirling forward into Bastien’s palm.

If Bastien thought the mark hurt before, it was nothing compared to _this._ Waves of molten heat raced in his blood and wove through his chest to constrict his heart; his hand felt like it was being sawed in half from within by a serrated blade. He ground his teeth and tried desperately not to fall, to kneel, clutching his wrist uselessly as he pleaded to the Maker to make it stop.

“It is your fault _Herald_ , you interrupted a ritual years in the planning. And instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as touched, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heaven.” Corypheus clenched his hand and a fresh hell opened up in Bastien’s palm, forcing him to the ground as he cried out, the sawing pain turning to tearing as he felt his palm rip open, the mark growing wider, his arm splitting in two. He pressed his forehead against the frozen earth, only vaguely aware of the dragon circling behind him. “And you use the anchor to undo my work? The gall.”

“What is this meant to do?!” He shouted through clenched teeth, fighting desperately against the dark spots clouding his vision, his boots digging into the earth with his struggle.

“It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.” The pain began to subside, leaving a used and violated ache in the depths of his palm and forearm. He kept his forehead against the earth as the black in his vision began to fade, gasping in ragged breaths, his mouth filled with the coppery tang of blood, the ash and smoke and earth all around him. But the worst of the pain had stopped. His relief was short lived as the towering creature grabbed him by that wrist and wrenched him up painfully.

He flailed uselessly as the man lifted him as simply as he would have plucked a flower from loose soil. That was when he had a good look at his opponent, and how massive and corrupted it was. He saw every crinkle of his withered flesh, felt the sting of the red lyrium against his skin, felt the saw like protrusions against his legs as he thrashed, heard skin tearing against his boots. The creature shook him, hard, stunning him to almost a daze. His feet dangled several feet from the ground, the monsters face within a foot of his, the stench of the corrupted lyrium overpowering. The monsters hand grabbed him by the chin, forcing their eyes to meet with painful force. 

“Beg that I succeed. For I have seen the throne of the Gods, and it was _empty._ ”

Bastien was cast aside like a broken toy, his back slamming hard into the trebuchet, knocked senseless for a moment. He stood and snatched up a discarded sword and angled it down at Corypheus, knees shaking under his weight. 

“The anchor is permanent; you have spoiled it with your stumbling.” Corypheus began to approach, dragon in tow behind him, it’s fangs and scales glistening red in the firelight. “So be it. I will begin again.”

Behind the massive dragon, a flaming arrow was launched. _They made it to safety_. Everyone was safe and he was against the trebuchet...the trebuchet he had just finished loading and aiming. A small spark of hope lit in his chest even as the monster loomed closer. ‘Sacrifice one life to change the course of history?’ He smiled at Leliana’s words and muttered to himself, “What a bargain.”

“And you, I will not suffer even an unknowing rival, you must die.”

“Your arrogance blinds you. That’s good to know.” Bastien grinned, earning a surprised look from Corypheus that was immensely gratifying. “If I _am_ to die, I will choose how.”

And he slammed his heel into the crank beside him, launching the boulder and starting a massive avalanche that would certainly bury Haven. He didn’t stick around to find out. He turned and ran as hard and fast as he could, finally listening to his instincts to get the hell out of their as the adrenaline flooded his system. He glanced his shield and snatched it up, not slowing down to look for his sword. He heard the dragon take off behind him before he was launched into the air, a wave of snow impacting behind him. His shoulder slammed hard onto something wooden, and the whole world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the Kudos and Comments! I love them all!


	19. Painful Stride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm always cold after editing/reading this chapter. Bring a cup of tea, its gonna be rough.

Searing pain from his left arm tore him back into reality, snapping violent green light against the crystal clear ice columns around him, the light tracing eerie patterns on the walls as it was reflected. He groaned and moved to grab his wrist, to shake out the pain, but the motion caused more to scream up his left side, forcing a cry past his lips. His back pressed into the freezing earth, his legs numb with the cold.

His ribs must be broken or at least bruised, and his marked arm was dislocated. He had to laugh, despite the pain. Its bitter sound echoed back in the icy chasm accompanied only by the sound of distant dripping water. What would it take to kill him? He was genuinely starting to wonder. He rolled gingerly to the side, teeth grinding as he dragged his limp arm behind him. He managed to make it over to a narrow gap between two massive ice sculptures. He wedged his wrist between them and winced, knowing that what he was about to do was going to hurt like hell. He wanted to cry, but that would get him nowhere, except maybe frostbite on his cheeks. So instead, he sucked in a breath, and pulled hard.

The joint popped audibly as it jarred back into place, causing Bastien to double over the instant his wrist was free, cradling the injured limb. He sucked in shallow breaths, his ribs aching. He stood slowly, he needed to get moving. The cavern was still but freezing, if he sat still too long he would die. He didn’t survive this long to be killed off by cold, that was just insulting.  He walked slowly forward, feeling out any other aches or sprains and was relatively pleased at the lack of severity. Sure his ribs may be cracked and his shoulder had been dislocated, but aside from a few wicked bruises, including one very nasty one on his right thigh that caused him to limp, nothing else was damaged. Not too bad when you consider he just dropped a mountain on himself.

He needed to move quickly, but very soon realized running was not going to happen and nearly doubled over at the pain in his ribs. He paused just a moment to catch his breath then continued, taking his time, keeping his breathing shallow and steady. Finally, he saw light ahead. _That must be the exit._ Despite his pain, he began to run, only to come face to face with several demons. Of its own will, his mark flared and he held it up rather painfully over his head and unleashed a strange sort of rift above him that slowly tore apart the demons, pulling them all inside with no further interference on his part. Which was good, since he only had a shield.

 _Like I could hold it anyway._  

He fell dizzy against a wall and hissed at the pain the jolting motion caused his ribs and shoulder. But the action of opening that rift left him winded, and he leaned against the wall of ice for several moments before he was able to stand properly without swaying. He was certain that if he knelt now, he would not get back up, and so he continued.

“I just need to make it to the exit…” He murmured to himself. His voice felt foreign to his ears as it echoed back between the ice fixtures. A distant whistling was soon exposed as a roaring blizzard. He wanted to laugh again. How many perfectly clear days did they have in Haven only to have shit hit the fan during a Maker damned blizzard? He wished he was snuggled up in his cabin at Haven. But no one was coming for him, and he couldn’t very well stay here.

He stepped out into the chaos, and sunk in the snow up to his ankles, the wind whipping violently at his skin and cloak, flecks of snow stinging against his face. He pressed forward, raising his uninjured arm against the gales, trying to shield at least some of his face. He muttered blasphemies under his breath as the snow began to deepen, slowly rising to his calves, burning through what little energy he had left to keep up his pace. His ribs screamed as he began to shiver, but he couldn’t stop.

He saw a cart still on fire and pressed quickly towards it. He’d been cold before stepping out in this, even a few moments at the fire would help. But it burned out just as he approached, because this needed to be harder. His thoughts turned to the Inquisition, and why the cart had been on fire in the first place. Had they all made it to safety?  Was everyone alright? _Was Dorian alright?_

He turned and continued to press on in the direction the wagon was facing. He had to reach them. But how could he know where he was going? He ventured a glance up and, at great sacrifice of warmth, gained no bearings, just bits of ice blown down the neck of his tunic. He shivered hard, and winced, pressing ever forward.

A wolf howled in the distance and he stopped in his tracks _. Wolves. Great._

No, actually, it was. Wolves wouldn’t be out and about in this storm. The pack would stay in roughly the same location, and, worst case scenario, at least he wouldn’t freeze to death. He only paused occasionally. Grateful for the trees offering shelter from the torrent, if only for a moment, enabling him to rub some warmth back into his cheeks and palms, to shake some ice from his cloak before he had to turn back into the icy gale and continue. He stopped behind another tree, dusted as much of the ice from his hair as he could, and pressed on.

He tried to keep his pace slow, not just because of the pain in his ribs but at these temperatures sweating would kill him just as quickly. But he couldn’t stop himself from jogging up to a campsite the moment he saw it, only to be crushed by bitter disappointment. Nothing, cold and frozen, just like him. He shook out his arms, extremities now completely numb, and pressed forward.

A few more feet and that…was the end of the trees. The end of his momentary reprieves, the end of his wolf guides, wherever they were. He huffed out a breath, tucked his arms around himself, and trudged forward. His mind began to wander, to Corypheus first, then to his companions. Of Cassandra’s maternal scolding, of Varric’s outrageous and likely crafted stories, of Bull’s wild adventures, of Sera’s barely understandable shenanigans, of Cullen and Leliana’s terrible but interesting stories of the last blight… of a warm barrier sliding over his skin, a warm body curled against his. Insecurities and confusion be damned he would give anything to be back in that tent curled around Dorian. He would’ve cursed the blush, but it brought stinging warmth to his cheeks that he was most grateful for.

He was so cold. He’d stopped shivering, and was very certain that was not a good sign, despite the renewed comfort in his ribs. Or were they just numb? He couldn’t feel his legs, just the monotonous lifting and falling, lean forward, lift and fall, stay upright, over and over. He dreamt of warmth and wine, sitting around a fire, laughing and winning cards, sharing stories or comfortable silences, of a warm smile. He’d grown so attached so quickly.

At some point, he realized, the wind had stopped. He would’ve smiled, if he could feel his face. He numbly thought thanks to the Maker, but it went unfinished in his head when something small and golden fluttered before him. _Another campsite, another fire_. He stumbled forward, tripping on his feet and the snow, falling face first into the soft drifts. He couldn’t move. He didn’t feel the cold, but his subconscious was yelling at him to get up. He tried to lift his arm, but it wouldn’t respond, he tried to move his legs, but they failed him.

Something small burned like hell-fire against his cheek and he blinked, the shock of sensation jarring him. His eyes slid open and forward in a sluggish movement, locking on the slightly glowing coals.

“Embers…” He murmured into the snow. He pushed himself up with renewed strength, his limbs shaking beneath the burden, and crawled forward. A soft heat radiated from the pit and he managed to stand. He wanted to stay and warm himself, but if, in these temperatures, it was still warm, he had to be close. And so he took a few steps forward.

But he kept stumbling. His momentary rest had allowed him to cool just too much; his joints rigid and sluggish, blood refusing to leave his heart to warm the greedy extremities. But he was so close.

_Maker…Andraste…Anyone…Please…_

He stumbled a few steps.

_I need strength…just a little more…_

A few more shaky steps, and then his foot wouldn’t lift. It was frozen in place. He wrenched his body, pulling it free, managed a few more steps. In the valley ahead, the small pass afforded him the sight of a soft, warm glow of what had to be many campfires.

_Just a few more steps._

_Just a few more…_

But his knees buckled and he fell flat against the snow. A gentle breeze tugged at his hair and warmth began to spread in his limbs. _No…No…NO. I’m so close I…_ He tried to move, but he was so tired. His mind screamed to get up, to stay awake, to keep moving, but he felt his eyes drifting shut despite it.

_Dorian…_

“There he is!”

 _…what?_ He tried to look but his eyes wouldn’t open.

“Thank the Maker!”

 _Cullen…Cassandra... Am I dead?_  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the Kudos and Comments! I love them so much!


	20. Recovery

The first time he woke, he felt as if he was standing in a raging fire. His muscles ached and burned, screaming in protest of his newfound consciousness. His hands and feet were the worst, millions of small, white hot daggers bored beneath his skin, crawling and tearing as they progressed. He tried to move, tried to see them, to watch the flames consume him, but a heavy weight pressed down against him. His eyes wouldn’t open, his limbs wouldn’t respond, his internal anguish only expressed by an unintelligible groan. Instantly, he was flooded with a cool, calm energy. It washed over him like slipping into a cool river on a sweltering day, waves of it echoed against his skin. His hands stopped burning and he felt the pull of dreams tugging at his consciousness. He tried to open his eyes, tried to see what was happening, but the pull was so strong, and he fell back into a deep slumber.

The second time he woke, he was shivering. His muscles ached and cramped in on themselves, his teeth clenched and chattered, his face twisted as he groaned. His skin felt too tight on his body, tiny needles bore into him everywhere fabric touched him, the painful sensitivity driving him mad. Until a warm, vibrant energy washed over his frame, seeping into every pore and warming him to the core. His muscles unwound and he sighed a breath of relief as the energy danced along its skin like a gentle fire in a hearth, radiating around him. Its familiar weight wrapped around him. He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth and thought he heard a laugh before he drifted back to sleep.

The third time he woke, there was shouting. His body was sore and tired, but nothing like the other times he’d woken. A soft, warm blanket enveloped him, covering him up to his nose, a fur from some hide atop him tickled his cheeks. At first, he couldn’t bring himself to care, he was so warm, and he was still so very tired. He managed to open his eyes, just a bit, enough to see he was in some sort of tent and that he wasn’t alone before his eyes drifted shut once more. The shouting seemed to increase outside and he groaned before snuggling deeper into the blankets. A familiar chuckle reached his ears from his companion. He wanted to open his eyes, he wanted to see him, Maker he wanted to see him so badly…but he fell fast asleep once more.

-

Dorian smiled. This was the first time Bastien hadn’t woken in agony, and he was glad to see him fall almost immediately back to sleep. He stood and made his way over to the bed, pushing the hide back just a bit to keep it from itching his face. He had Solas had been taking turns on watch. Solas had the first shift, as he was a much more adept healer than Dorian, but lately he’d taken to the books and maps, speaking of some sanctuary nearby and Cassandra decided that should be his priority. Solas, deeming Bastien out of the worst danger, entrusted care to Dorian. A task Dorian wasn’t entirely sure he was up for; at least until he read a few books on healing magic and sat with a few of the other mages, he was nothing if not a quick learner.

His expression darkened. By the time they’d found Bastien, he was nearly dead. Half frozen and covered in blood and soil. He blamed the argument of whether or not to go back and look for him completely for the severity of his condition. The man had stayed behind, saved all of their lives multiple times and there was a _debate_ on if they should try and find him again. He ground his teeth before letting out a harsh breath.

He brushed a stray lock of hair from Bastien’s forehead, combing it back with the rest of the unruly mass of red, his fingers lingering a moment before tracing his jaw. He would need to shave when he woke, if the man ever did. He wondered briefly if he left the stubble there on purpose to hide his youth. Yet another thing that bothered Dorian, how young this man was who was so eager to save everyone else. 

But he was safe now. He was warm now, that was what mattered. Dorian tried not to think of how close he’d come to losing the man who lay sleeping before him now. Bastien’s mouth twitched in his sleep and Dorian smiled, turning and lifting a book to thumb through, he had made a promise to himself after all.

-

The sound of shouting woke Bastien once more. Cassandra’s agitated voice was muffled against the leather of his tent, but it woke him all the same. He sat up slowly and reluctantly, he didn’t want to leave the warmth of his bed, but who knows how long he’d been out of it? He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and was immediately chastised.

“Do not even think of getting up.” Dorian didn’t move from his place in the corner of the tent, leaning back in a small chair. His hand braced against his jaw, a finger resting gently against his lips, his eyes boring into Bastien over the book in his hand.

Bastien started at the sound of Dorian’s voice, but sighed in relief when he realized who addressed him. The warm feeling washed over him at seeing Dorian safe and sound, heat sparking in his chest as he smiled weakly. It was so very good to see him alive and well, relaxing in the corner of the tent just a few feet away from him. He gestured towards the tent flap, his voice gravely with sleep when he finally go the words out, “I need to be out there. They can’t keep arguing like this, I need to stop it before they say something they regret.”

“You _need_ to stay in bed. They’ve been at it for the last few days, a few more hours will not change anything. Now, go back to sleep.” Dorian’s eyes flicked back down to the book in his hands and Bastien’s eyes followed, nearly starting from their sockets when he saw the cover.

A rearing horse stared back at him from the well loved and well worn leather cover. He jolted forward, intent on snatching the Journal back but the moment he shifted his weight his legs buckled beneath him and he wound up in the dirt instead. Dorian uttered a small curse and set the book out of reach on a table, standing to help Bastien from his prostrated position.

“Honestly.” Dorian sighed, crouching in front of Bastien. “Was that necessary?”

“Why are you reading it?” Bastien blushed and rolled onto his back to sit up, his legs trembling.

“Because there is nothing else to do for ‘one who’s opinion does not matter’, as your Lady Cassandra has so eloquently put it. Besides, I find it is rather interesting. I think my favorite is the bit about me.”

If only Dorian knew what Bastien _hadn’t_ written just yet; he blushed harder.

Dorian stood and stepped back over, ignoring Bastien’s protestations, and lifted the book, thumbing to the aforementioned pages. A grin played at his lips. Bastien’s words had been rather flattering at first, commenting on his confidence and intellect, even a bit about his appearance, but they quickly grew far too close for comfort. His words delving to thoughts of the man hiding something, of insecurities hidden beneath humor, of a mask worn for protection. Even if Bastien had just been speculating, just writing out his thoughts to analyze possible outcomes as Dorian did out loud, he’d hit the nail on the head, and it made Dorian rather uneasy. Perhaps this man was not just some sweet, innocent, meat headed Marcher. He hadn’t believed one bit of Dorian’s posturing.

He glanced to the man in question, still sitting on the floor trying to rub the life back into his legs, refusing to make eye contact, a faint blush across his cheeks that disappeared before the collar of the thick sweater he wore. No, he hadn’t believed any of Dorian’s posturing, but he’d accepted and welcomed him all the same. Dorian felt something pull in his chest, but pushed the feeling down with a precision begot by practice, stamping it down to nothing. He set the book down and crouched, weaving an arm beneath Bastien’s and helping him to his feet.

 “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up, for some sign of where we are to go now. But, we can wait. You need rest.”

Bastien’s weight shifted heavily against Dorian, his legs unwilling or unable to support him. He huffed out a breath and tried to plant his feet, to support his weight. But couldn’t. Dorian shuffled them both slowly towards the bed; Bastien struggled to walk along the way, barely able to keep his legs beneath him.

“Take your time.” Dorian murmured and Bastien sighed, clenching his teeth. He closed his eyes, tried to take a step, and finally succeeded. He grinned over at Dorian, who returned his smile, and tried to take another step. His leg wobbled and buckled, he was fairly certain Dorian could’ve supported them, if he hadn’t tripped on Bastien’s foot. They twisted in the air before falling heavily on top of the cot.

Bastien huffed out a breath, irritated his legs would not cooperate with him. He tried to shift, to get his weight off of Dorian, but his arms shook with the effort and would not support him. He had to laugh.

“I manage to survive but my body won’t do anything I say.” He muttered and shook his head, letting it fall heavily to the cot by Dorian’s shoulder, inches away from his neck. “Sorry.”

 _Kaffas._ Dorian knew it was not the appropriate time, with Bastien recently resurrected and as helpless as he’d ever been, but he could not resist enjoying his current situation at least a little. The heavy, firm frame of Bastien pressed him deep into the cot, his warm breath brushing his neck, and his mind betrayed him, flashing with shirtless memories, of remembered scars and devilishly leading trails of hair, of his unshaven cheeks, now a bit overgrown in his days of unconsciousness. It was a struggle not to bury his face into the man’s neck, to trail kisses and bites along the strong curve of his shoulder. He wondered if Bastien was ticklish, if the man would laugh and writhe when Dorian’s fingers dug into his sides to draw him closer, to breathe in that earthy scent that enveloped him. He clenched his teeth and cleared his throat.

“I know I’m magnificent, and it’s difficult to resist touching me,” His mind flashed to waking up in Bastien’s arms, of warm breath against the back of his neck, of unshaven cheeks brushing against his skin, “But you are rather heavy.”

“I’m sorry.” Bastien murmured, his voice rumbled through Dorian, a note of embarrassment and shame in his voice that did nothing to stop Dorian’s mind from wandering, “I… can’t get up.”

“Because you did not stay in bed like I told you to.” Dorian chided. And they were both worse off for it. He wedged his hand between them and tried not to revel in the feel of him beneath the sweater as he pushed, enabling Bastien to shift onto his elbow.

Bastien lifted his head and smirked down at Dorian, a bit more than embarrassed at pinning him down. A bit more than confused at the buzz of his heart as he stared down at Dorian, he flicked his eyes away for a moment before forcing himself to make eye contact. Dorian's eyes were dark in the dim light of the tent, his cheeks seemed flushed and his lips were slightly parted, inviting. His thoughts from his drunken escapade a few nights prior flashed in his mind and every sensation returned with it tenfold. _Can I kiss you?_  “Thanks.”

Dorian’s heart slammed in his chest, heat snaking its way along his veins to pulse through him. Bastien had the most devilish smirk, and it drew his attention far too intently to the man’s mouth; to the slightly chapped lips, still healing from his frozen adventure, and thoughts of how they would feel against his. They moved, but the words were lost, Dorian’s entire world had narrowed to the perfect shape of those lips. His hand reached out, his thumb tracing the lower lip and the mouth parted on an intake of breath. Healing magic pulsed out at his gentle touch, reverting them to their normally soft and inviting state as the gruff whiskers on his cheek brushed his palm. He felt himself leaning forward, felt Bastien shifting forward as well.

“Herald?” A gruff voice asked from the door, slamming Dorian back to reality. He retracted his hand quickly and finished pushing Bastien over, as if that had been his true intention, and sat up to regard Cullen standing awkwardly in the flap of the tent.

“Ah, Commander, excellent timing! Help me get him the rest of the way to bed, would you?” Dorian unwound his legs quickly and stood, grabbing Bastien’s ankles, ignoring the confused and flushed look the other man was giving him. Cullen immediately rushed over, taking Bastien by the shoulders and, with Dorian’s aid, managed to get him re-situated in his bed.

“How did—“

“Ah, that is simple enough. He heard the lot of you arguing and wanted to go and help. Perhaps you could have been a bit more courteous to the poor man and kept it down, hm?” Dorian cut Cullen with a look and the man looked properly abashed, and distracted, “Now that he is awake, perhaps you could bring the discussion to him? That way, at least, he will not try to get up again. If you’ll excuse me.”

And with that, Dorian fled the room. No, Dorian didn’t _flee_. He simply walked rapidly away without looking back and praying no one would follow him. He scolded himself, his hand covering his mouth. He’d lost control and nearly kissed the man, and would have if not for Cullen’s timely intervention. He was not attracted to Bastien, save the physical one anyone would have when faced with his shirtless form. _Y_ _es you are_. He shook his head, _No. There is nothing there save the potential to have some fun when it has been too long. That is all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the Comments and Kudos! I live for them!


	21. The Hike

Bastien’s eyes were glued to the fire, though they were unfocused. His hand passed through his hair, opening the heavy cloak he’d donned early that morning before they’d set out, letting in the chill of the early evening air. The sun hung fat on the horizon, casting a deceptively warm glow against the sparkling snow, tinting the fog of breath passing his lips in the icy air. Somehow, he’d wound up leading the entirety of the Inquisition through a mountain range he’d never even seen. How was he supposed to know where in the Makers name they were going? Solas had mentioned a fortress, ready to be occupied, but what if some other force was holding it now?

His gaze flicked briefly to the people as they finished setting up their tents for the night, cold and tired. They were nowhere near ready for a fight. If Corypheus found them now, it would be the end of the Inquisition. He ground his teeth, why was all of this his decision? What made everyone kneel before him? Who put him in charge? He’d asked all this of Cassandra, and she merely replied it was ‘the Maker’s will’ and bowed as well. He didn’t like it.

Then there was Dorian. He avoided Bastien for the first day or so after he’d woken and began moving about, refusing to be alone with him until one evening where he’d stormed up to him and slapped him, in private thank the Maker, and torn him a new one for forcing them to leave him behind in the first place. After that, everything had gone nearly back to normal. He’d gone back to sparring with Cullen in the scant down time, planning with the other ‘leaders’, and making his rounds to ensure that no one wanted for anything. Dorian had saved his pack, with his precious journal and sketchbook, from Haven, thankfully it had been on his way to the Chantry, and he couldn’t be more grateful. He had a lot that needed put to paper, and he would’ve mourned the lost pages. But more than anything, he would’ve mourned the last piece of Jean he carried.

He ran his hands over the leather of the book at his hip, a smile forcing its way to his lips. He was so glad it survived. He knew it was a bit pathetic, but it was too rooted to his system to change now, especially while everything else was so eager to change around him. His mind wandered to his tent, to falling on Dorian, to Dorian’s warm expression, the way he traced Bastien’s lips and begun to lean forward. His heart fluttered despite himself and he blushed, clearing his throat in embarrassment at his train of thought.

He’d been afraid to approach the topic, but Dorian had looked like he was about to kiss him, like he wanted to and would have if not for Cullen’s intervention. Warmth spread through his chest at the memory, along with a rather intense wave of confusion. If Dorian had kissed him, he wasn’t entirely sure he would have minded, or would have stopped him.  If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he wished Cullen would have waited a few more minutes before entering. He wanted to explore whatever this was that kept making his heart skip in his chest at a look, to leap into his throat at the slightest touch, the addling of his brain at a laugh. But what would Dorian - He nearly jumped out of his skin as a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“That is equal levels incredibly impressive and incredibly terrifying.” Varric leaned over his shoulder, staring at the sketch Bastien been working on. “How’d you manage to get so much detail?”

Bastien looked down at his sketch of Corypheus, his face taking up an entire page. The dramatic lines of the lyrium jutting out from his cheeks, the shadowed eyes darkened by a drawn brow, the snag of skin, the sneer on his lips, all of it had been bored into Bastien’s memory.

“I was _really_ close.” He sighed, allowing the book to snap shut, binding it closed and hooking it to his belt, fighting against the blush on his cheeks at being startled in such a train of thought.

“Man, how do you sleep at night?” Varric walked around the log he was sitting on, a bowl in each hand. He held one out to Bastien and he took it readily, with all the stresses on him, he was terrible at remembering to eat. “I mean, without drinking.”

Bastien laughed through the mouthful he’d already consumed, “I get by alright.”

“I didn’t know our Herald was also an artist.” Varric gestured at him with his spoon.

Bastien colored, a grin pulling up the edge of his mouth, “I don’t know if I’d go that far.” He laughed, “I doodle on occasion, nothing too fancy.”

Varric leveled a narrow stare at him and sighed, “Whatever you say, Rosey.”

“Hey.” Bull grunted, stepping easily over the seat to join Bastien and Varric at the fire. “How’s it goin?”

Not long after, the rest of the inner circle had gathered around the fire, each with a bowl and chatting almost cheerfully with their neighbor. Bull and Varric were chatting rather heatedly about Qunari, Cass and Cullen were chatting about fighting techniques, Sera was making Josephine blush with some raunchy comment or other, Leliana was reading some missive while adding the occasional comment at Josephine’s expense, and beside him, Dorian picked through his bowl with a defeated expression. Bastien grinned, elated by the man’s proximity and barely resisted the urge to scoot closer, to close that small gap that pulled at him like a magnet, urging him to embrace. He did, however, lean closer.

“Something wrong with your stew?” He murmured.

“It is stew. The _same_ stew. In fact, I would wager it was the _exact_ same stew we’ve eaten the last three days.” Dorian grumbled, but ate it all the same with a slight sneer.

Bastien paused for a moment, watching the motions of his mouth a bit too intently, before an idea popped into his head. He stood quickly and went to his tent, ruffling through his bag. He found exactly what he was looking for and grinned wide. He brought the flask over to Dorian and passed it to him, earning a raised eyebrow in response.

“Tevinters like spicy foods, right?” Dorian nodded suspiciously, Bastien gestured to the bottle. “Try it.”

With narrowed eyes, Dorian popped the cork and wiped the small droplet from the bottom of it. With a final glance to Bastien, he placed his finger in his mouth. Within moments, his eyes fluttered closed and he smiled. Popping his finger from his mouth, he upended a portion of the liquid to his stew before replacing the cork and passing it back. Bastien did similar, though a significantly smaller amount, before offering it to the circle. 

Varric and Cullen began coughing and downing their water upon tasting it, Cassandra and Bull loved it, Sera refused to taste it, convinced it was poison, Solas sneered and immediately passed the vial back. Bastien glanced back to Dorian, now happily eating his day old stew with vigor, and he smiled. Dorian looked up at him a moment, a small, grateful smile on his lips and soft expression in his eyes, before turning back to his food. Something warm and new fluttered awake in Bastien’s chest, strange and unsettling, but not unpleasant. This was far different from the excited pounding or gentle sighing Dorian usually caused, this was much more intense, yet somehow softer.

_Oh._

Bastien blinked, his eyes turning back over to his own food and stirring the contents. _Where did that come from?_ He wondered, his heart still skipping in his chest at the memory of Dorian’s content little smile. There was warmth behind it the man had never shown, almost vulnerability, lost in some memory for just a moment before coming back to their little fire. And Maker, it was _beautiful_.

 _Can I kiss you?_ The words nearly escaped him, barely bit back at the last second, he shook his head softly, and stared hard at his stew. _Maker’s breath, what is going on with me?_

“You know, you and I are related.” Dorian began after the rest of the party had filtered off to their respective tents for the night.

“What?” Bastien tilted his head, snapped out of his contemplation.

“Not closely, mind you.” Dorian laughed at the mild panic on Bastien’s features. “Deep in the nethers of my family tree there is a Trevelyan. Perhaps he was even the one to wander off to Ostwick to establish your tree. We _are_ talking about long ago, of course.”

Bastien was quite for a moment, “You know that off the top of your head?”

“Not the top, no, maybe middle or something. I was required to learn the _entire_ Pavus family history as part of my stunning education, after all.” He grinned towards Bastien, throwing his charm into the gesture and was rewarded with a blush, “I knew there was a reason I found you so handsome, you’re related to me.”

Bastien’s blush only darkened and his eyes locked onto the fire. Dorian waited for a reply, but the man only fidgeted. At this point, Dorian knew the conversation was over. He waved his hand in dismissal to Bastien and the man stood, turning to leave but he paused, wringing his hands, his cheeks and ears crimson. Whatever he was going to say, he changed his mind, speeding off towards his tent and quickly disappearing in to the darkness beyond the fire.

_Sweet Andraste, the man was precious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the Kudos and Comments! You're all so wonderful!


	22. Skyhold

The next several days were spent much the same. Bastien leading the front with Solas, the rest of the crew helping out the civilians and survivors as best they could on the long trek. Each night, the inner circle would gather around the fire, eat the same stew, possibly freshened by a poor rabbit that happened to cross within Sera’s range, seasoned with found herbs or Bastien’s spices. But the stew was growing thin and wildlife was growing scarce; they didn’t have much time left. Even the conversations had grown sparse, each member to weary to put forth the effort.

After the first week had passed, Bastien stopped attending the evening dinners. He had too much to do to stop. When he wasn’t leading them forward, he was pouring over known maps of the area, trying to discern where a fortress could be hiding in all of it. Solas repeatedly assured him that it was there, and not to worry, but it did little to soothe him. He was leading hundreds of people through the mountains, possibly to their death, on nothing but the word of a random elf. An elf he considered a friend, but was cloaked in far too many unanswered questions and unsolved mysteries for him to fully trust.

Tonight, he didn’t even stop by the makeshift kitchen, instead going directly for the small tent they’d erected for conferences. They always gave him too large a portion, too much of the meat, too much of the bread, and he was certain the others suffered for it. Let the laborers eat, the men helping others, the women carrying their children, the soldiers guarding the border. All he had to do was stare at a map and point. That didn’t take much energy.

After a few hours delay, his stomach growled in protest, but he brushed it off, he needed to focus. The tent rustled in the breeze and Bastien had to place his hand against the map to keep it from blowing away. The small candle flickered and threatened to burn out, before it erupted, glowing strongly and vibrantly against the cold, familiar magic tingling over his skin. He heard the crunch of snow behind him as footsteps approached. A tanned arm stretched into view, setting his portion of stew beside his hand.

“The poor cook was absolutely in tears over ‘her Herald’ not eating. She only stopped when I agreed to bring it to you.” Dorian shifted his hip against the edge of the table, an immaculate eyebrow raised as he sized up Bastien. Bastien shifted back on his hip, pushing both hands forcefully through his hair with a sigh. “Please do not tell me you are one of those whom do not eat when they are under duress. It would be terribly cliche.”

Bastien looked away, equal parts irritated at the presence of the food and frustrated with the little skip his heart had taken to doing at the sound of Dorian’s voice. He didn’t have time to think about that now, of soft and pleasant thoughts, not when so many lives were relying on him. He leaned forward, eyes boring holes into the map before him, as if staring at the stretched hide would reveal its secrets.

“Come now, we have been walking all day, you must be hungry. I hope you aren’t so foolish as to think no one would notice you skipping lunch. I had to practically hold Cassandra back by the collar, for which you owe me. Now it is time for you to repay me, eat your dinner.” Dorian gestured, tugging at the edges of the map to remove Bastien’s focus from it. There were several other things Dorian would have preferred for repayment, but this was the more pressing. But Bastien resisted, gently pushing his hands away.

“I am hungry.” He conceded on a sigh, “But they need it more.” He angled his chin to the workers now heading to the kitchen, their eyes sunken with fatigue.

“They need to eat more than the man leading us to our new haven?” Dorian scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Bastien didn’t budge, his eyes hard as he stared over their path on the scraps of hide. It was, in fact, ridiculous, at least to Dorian. Why shouldn’t the leader eat the best? It was his mind that was going to save them, his body they needed strong and rested, his life that should be spared above all others. But he sighed, in this man’s position he hoped he would’ve been good enough to do the same. And that someone like himself would be around to chastise him for it. A hungry and tired leader makes terrible choices. But this man was too impossibly sweet to make that calculation. 

“If you go hungry you cannot think clearly, if you cannot think you cannot lead. I know it seems a great injustice for you, but I can assure you, you are the only one who feels this way. Now, eat before it grows cold. This slop is bad enough warm.” He lifted the steaming bowl and pressed it into Bastien’s hand.

Bastien sighed, Dorian was right. He’d been staring at the map and made no progress, despite his best efforts. A long day of running ahead and reporting back, all while wearing that heavy shield and armor, had taken its toll. He was exhausted, chaffed, and starving. He didn’t have the willpower to resist the warm, fragrant bowl in his hands. He sighed and sat right where he was in the dirt, his back leaning up against the legs of the table, and began to eat. Dorian shifted to lean back against the table after folding the map and weighing it down with a stone. After a brief silence, Dorian told him tales of Tevinter as he ate, trying to pull his mind away from the weight which was a new and constant press on his shoulders. Bastien didn’t stop eating long enough to ask questions, but Dorian understood his grunts well enough.

_B_ _arbarian indeed._

By the time Bastien finished, exhaustion hit him full force and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. The days had been demanding and the nights had been restless, now that he had a moment to take his mind off the strain, everything hit him. He set down his bowl and shifted on his arms in an attempt to push himself up. They shook from the strain but he managed to struggle into a crouch. He yawned widely and Dorian sidled up to him, looping his arm around Bastien to help support him.

“I feel this is not the first time I’ve had to carry you off to bed. I may start asking for a reward, should this pattern continue.” Dorian quipped but Bastien was too tired to process the innuendo laced in Dorian’s words and merely grunted his reply, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Ah, so eloquent. How could I expect less from a Southerner?”

They made their way quietly to Bastien’s tent. No sooner had his head hit his pillow did he fall asleep, a soft snore the only sound in the slightly oversized tent. Dorian grinned and made his way to the nightstand, lifting the journal he’d been reading a few nights prior, intent on finishing it. It was remarkably well written and highly detailed, a tribute of Bastien’s education no doubt. Missions Dorian had not been present for were so detailed he felt he’d been there himself, his favorite parts, however, had been at the beginning, dating back to just before the conclave and the drawn out pressures from Bastien’s family trying to guilt him into joining the Templar order. That concern seemed so novel now. 

At the beginning it was always violent, raw emotions seeping into the words before they seemed to calm, each line breaking down the words exchanged to their deeper meanings. And, regardless if the conclusion was favorable or not, they always ended calmly. It was a remarkable strategy, even if Dorian could use a substantial amount of this information against Bastien, should the need arise. A thought passed in his mind and he resolved himself to ensure Varric did not get his hands on this without permission, lest it go into whatever drivel the man was currently writing. He’d have to teach the man how to properly hide things.

\---

Skyhold.

At least, that’s what Solas was calling it.

The fortress was magnificent at a distance, and a welcome sight for everyone. The relief echoing through the ranks was palpable. As they all funneled through beneath the massive iron gate and began to disperse, Bastien noticed one other thing about the magnificent fortress: It was a dump.

Maker only knows how long it had been at the whim of the elements, left for its bridges to collapse, the wood to rot and crumble, roofs caved in from the weight of snow gone unchecked or some battle fought long ago. Still, he ran his hand lovingly along its cool stone walls, the scent of dust and old wood filling his nostrils. It was sturdy, and they would make it magnificent once more.

Even without any magical prowess himself, he could feel an old energy in this place. Some old spell that refused to quit made the inner walls of Skyhold, and even the courtyard, several degrees warmer than the surrounding mountains. Some small alcoves, where the sun shone uninterrupted by trees and the breeze was unable to reach, he felt downright warm. He couldn’t remember the last time he was truly warm that didn’t involve alcohol or a mountain of blankets. But the sun which kissed his skin seeped through his pores, spreading its warmth everywhere it touched. Bastien may even feel comfortable taking off his cloak, if he ever had the opportunity.

His advisors had blessedly given him some room, a brief respite to process his new title, his new role. He went from being a prisoner, to being a Herald and icon, to the primary figurehead of the Inquisition: He was now The Inquisitor.

He turned the ornate sword in his hand as he walked, the rose gold tinted haft and the finely polished steel shone vibrantly in the sunlight, almost gleeful in its newfound purpose even as its handler felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck. He’d led everyone here, and now he was expected to continue with complete autonomy over every decision, regardless of his advisors opinions. It settled like a lead ball in his stomach.

He didn’t want this. This stupid mark that tingled in his palm as it laughed at him, the power and authority, he didn’t want to be in control of all these lives laid out before him. He had been perfectly content to slide through life on his sketches, making just enough to furnish a little apartment of his own to settle in and read his life away, it was all that was ever expected of him as the youngest son. Regardless of his feelings, as life often went, he was stuck.

He leaned over the railing above the stairs and overlooked the massive courtyard. He forced his mind blank, focusing on the brightly colored ivy which crept along the mortar, fluttering happily in the gentle breeze some unseen barrier allowed past the outer walls. Eventually, his gaze settled on the people below him, all shifting and milling about their various tasks as the once pristine courtyard turned into a brown, overturned and trampled mess. His first sight of it had taken his breath away, and he’d honor it by sketching it out later. But never again would he see the grass swaying gently, new seedlings starting up in their warm, untouched sanctuary.

To his right, the bellows of the armory were already sparked, a thin trail of smoke wafting in the breeze and over the battlements as they were stoked. To his left, the kitchen’s chimney had soft scents of warm, hearty meals already beginning. He smiled, everyone must be starving and would do better with a warm meal in their gut. He silently thanked that massive colony of rabbits for taking up shelter in Skyhold. They would eat well tonight.

He sighed and shook his head, pushing off the railing.

It was time to see what they had to work with.


	23. Long Awaited Reply

Skyhold was massive. It took him several hours to explore the main building in depth, and even then he had yet to see all of it. He’d made excellent progress, until he hit the library. Solas had set up shop in the rotunda beneath, Leliana had set up her rookery above, and several mages were already picking their way through the tomes, organizing what little they’d managed to salvage at Haven. He wondered briefly if there were any books from the fortress’ origin, or if the owner had kept a journal, when a familiar title caught his eye.

He lifted the old book, covered in dust from their journey, and ran his fingers lightly along its spine, a small smile tugging at his lips as he traced the outline of a dragon. He’d read the book when he was younger, unable to understand half of what it meant at the time, only that it was all about dragons and as a child, he really liked dragons. He still did now, and hoped he would never be forced to slay one of the magnificent beasts. He sighed, the smile refusing to part at the fond memory of the substantially easier time when Jean had first gifted the book to him.

“Careful, I might get jealous.”

Bastien jumped at the soft tone behind him, nearly dropping the book to the ground as he spun to face Dorian. “Maker, Dorian, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“It was hardly sneaking.” Dorian dismissed, skirting around Bastien to plop himself into the lush but dusty chair in the little alcove. Dorian hadn't wanted to interrupt the moment, content to stand there watching the soft play of nostalgia on Bastien's features, but there were other eyes in the library than his own. 

“Is this where you’ll be hiding then?” Bastien gave one last glance to the book before replacing it on the shelf, trying to calm his startled breathing.

“I don’t hide. But yes, this is where I will be, should you find yourself in want of my wit or my charm.” Dorian winked.

Bastien laughed, a gentle thing, his mouth wrought into a smile, “How _interesting_ to find someone so aware of his finer qualities.”

The moment the words passed his lips, Dorian saw him freeze, eyes wide. Dorian simply smiled, one perfect curl of his moustache twitching as he stifled his amusement at Bastien's discomfort. He did so enjoy watching the color spread to his cheeks every time he uttered a potentially flirtatious remark, even if by Dorian’s standards they were positively chaste. He enjoyed even more knowing just how far that blush spread. But his favorite part was the attempt at recovery. He was so miserable at it that Dorian was, admittedly, a bit charmed. But today, his retort only took a few moments, and actually managed to catch Dorian off guard for once.

“This must be why they kicked you out of Tevinter.” Bastien scoffed, the grin never leaving his face as he crossed his arms, rising to Dorian’s challenging stare. “Incessant teasing.”

Dorian gasped in mock offense, “HA! They didn’t kick me out!” Bastien raised an eyebrow and Dorian sighed, a smirk on his lips, “Alright they might’ve, if they’d gotten around to it.”

“They’re loss.” Bastien grinned before his eyes went wide and the smile fell, he was about to begin that glorious backpedal Dorian so enjoyed when a scout approached him, letter in hand.

“Inquisitor,” Bastien tensed at the title, “I have a letter from a Captain Derrick and a Commander Eloren for you.”

He blanched; his brother and sister hadn’t been killed in Haven, and had finally replied. He took the letter gently in his hand and the scout quickly vanished, or he could have casually walked away, Bastien hadn’t a clue, he’d already torn open the seal and his eyes begun to greedily devour the flowing, graceful script of Eloren.

               _Bastien,_

_Thank the Maker you yet live. Mother and Father had informed us both of Jean’s fate, I am sorry, dear little brother, we all cared for him but none so  much as you. His loss must affect you greatly, and we are sorry we cannot be there to aid you in mourning our dear brother, whom has been slaughtered by those filthy mages. Mages, as we have heard, you have chosen to ally yourself with._

The edges of the paper crinkled in Bastien’s hands and the muscles in his jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth. He heard a shift beside him.

_We were horrified to hear how our little brother has allied himself with those who took our eldest brother from us, not to mention the Divine and all of hermost faithful. While we do know you, and know your intentions were likely for the best, they are fraught with misguided sympathy. We hope you are aware of the repercussions of your actions, baby brother. It was shameful for those who put you in that position, they should have known your inexperience, your naïve trust and your innocence would render you an incompetent leader. But perhaps you have simply been too trusting, and are letting these fools use you as a puppet and a scapegoat. We do not blame you, sweet Bastien, we blame those who have put you in this position. Unfortunately, all of Thedas will suffer for this mistake._

He began to grind his teeth, the words beginning to blur on the page before him. A feather light touch brushed his arm, a warm, comforting gesture. He wanted to stop, but he couldn’t, he had to know every word. His brow drew tight as he focused on the script. 

_The Lord Seeker has come to save us from the peril you have wrought. While there are times he seems mad, his words do make a certain kind of sense.Perhaps if you had possessed the will and fortitude to join the Templars, you could have seen this for yourself. We are doing great things, Bastien, if you have any sense left, come join us at Therinfall. The Lord Seeker has asked that I invite you in my reply, and your transgressions will be forgiven. Please, see reason and come to us at once, do not ruin everything with your sympathetic stumbling._

_I love you, Baby Bastien, be safe._

_Commander Eloren Trevelyan_

He continued to stare at the page even after his eyes had clouded and he could no longer make any sense of the words. His parents refused to speak with him until the Chantry sanctioned his continued existence and his only surviving siblings called him a puppet and a stumbling fool. At least Eloren had, he was certain Derrick refused to even acknowledge his letter. He had no one left to lean on. He was alone, cast adrift in a frozen world with an army of monsters gunning for his head and the future of Thedas resting on his shoulders.

He was vaguely aware of someone beside him and, damn the consequences, he needed a hug. He turned and wrapped his arms around Dorian, burying his face into the man’s shoulder as the grief consumed him. He’d never been ashamed of tears and, thankfully, Dorian didn’t seem repulsed by them. His hand rubbed slow, soothing circles over Bastien’s back as the tears continued to flow.

“Their words are misguided.” Dorian spoke gently, slowly easing them away from prying eyes to the slight cover and security of his alcove. He’d read the letter over Bastien’s shoulder, his own jaw clenching at the words. They were too harsh on him. While he _was_ too trusting, each decision was his own, he was no puppet and he was no fool.

“I know.” Bastien managed to murmur into the leather of Dorian’s armor.

They sat in relative silence, only the soft, ragged breath of Bastien filling the air, interrupted only by the cawing of the crows above. He began to calm, his tears finally slowed their onslaught, and he slowly released Dorian from his grasp, using the edge of his cloak to try and dry the mess he’d made of the man’s shoulder. Dorian swatted his hands away, taking a corner instead to dry Bastien’s face in a gesture that felt unnatural yet he was compelled, it had never been done for him, but Bastien was so much kinder than this world would allow.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” Bastien murmured in a weak voice, gently taking the cloth from Dorian’s hand to wipe at his now damp eyes, he took a half step back. “My brother was probably too enraged to even write, Eloren likely put his name there for my sake.” He sighed, defeated, offering Dorian a weak grin that didn’t even touch his eyes. “Thanks for letting me cry on you.”

Dorian simply nodded. He wasn’t used to such outward displays of emotion. If you showed your heart so easily in Tevinter, or even Orlais, it would be cut from you without a second thought, manipulated to serve another’s agenda. He tried to stifle it, to stamp it down as not his problem, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit compelled to protect Bastien’s innocence. _How ironic of you, Pavus, considering the dreams you’ve been having lately._

He pushed the thought down and planted a gentle hand on Bastien’s shoulder. “I am here, if you need me. Even if you just want to get yourself flustered and run away, I do so enjoy watching you leave.”

Bastien’s smile broadened, finally gracing his eyes as they flicked to meet Dorian’s, who returned the grin, proud of himself for pulling him back up. “Thanks for that, now every time I walk past you I’m going to wonder if I’m walking weird.”

“Trust me, it’s not how you walk that has my attention.” He did his best to purr the words.

Bastien laughed outright this time, a flush of color finally returning to his previously pale face. “Thanks, Dorian.”

“Any time, Bastien.”

He gave Dorian a small, somewhat sad smile before giving him a small wave and turning to leave, his gait, in fact, was a bit different: a little awkward, a little more shy. Dorian grinned after him, stomping down that little bit of affectionate warmth creeping up in his chest. _Tread lightly, Pavus._ He chastised himself. _Your position is precarious enough without that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for any Comment or Kudo! You're wonderful!


	24. Repairs

Bastien fell heavily on his bed, a weary sigh rushing from his lips. He knew he should head down to the hot springs they’d found beneath Skyhold, should get cleaned up and changed, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand up now that he was lying down. His hands were raw and filthy, covered with dirt and mortar as well as scrapes from helping repair a broken wall, his hair was a tangled, filthy mess from helping rebuild the stables and he was fairly certain he had more than one splinter. His entire body ached from the various hauling and repair projects currently going on throughout Skyhold. The sun hung low on the horizon, brilliant rays shimmered through the neighboring peaks, casting Skyhold in a warm golden glow. It ricocheted through the stained glass windows of Bastien’s room, filling it with a warm light, glinting with tiny rainbows.  

They’d been at it for a little over a week and repairs were coming along in leaps and bounds. He hadn’t had a chance to rest since day one which had turned into a blessed distraction since his sister’s letter. Each day, sun up until sun down, everyone was hard at work. He envied the mages abilities, he’d much rather haul a massive rock with his will alone over carrying it across the courtyard on a cart like a pack mule. But the people needed to see him work, to see him breaking his back like everyone else. He wouldn’t be some silent hand hovering over them, he would be involved.

He kicked his boots off and flopped gracelessly onto his back with a groan, wiggling his toes as his arms and legs reached out in a stretch and sighed, his eyes fluttering closed momentarily and he began to sink into the sweet bliss of a deep sleep when he heard a pounding at his door. He sighed audibly, his eyes opening to bore into the ceiling before calling out to the person to come in. The door opened with a groan, soft footsteps padding their way up the stairs to his loft. The place was far too grand for his liking, but he had to admit it was nice to have a desk to write at and a sanctuary away from the rest of the world he could escape to.

The smell hit him first, his mouth immediately watering. The only thing he wanted more than sleep in this moment was food. He closed his eyes and smiled, proud of what their cook had managed to accomplish with their little ingredients. Fragrant spices, juicy meat and freshly baked bread tugged his nostrils until he sat upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he yawned.

“I hope you are not expecting me to deliver all of your dinners.” Dorian’s voice washed over him and he smiled, the warmth spreading to his limbs as the rich tone caressed his skin, tingling all the way to his fingertips. He had given up trying to understand the why, so he simply enjoyed it, “You’re lucky the cook likes you so much.”

“The cook didn’t make you walk up all those Maker forsaken stairs--,” Bastien’s voice came out as a rumble, cut short by another yawn as he stood to greet Dorian. “I’m lucky _you_ like me.”

He took one of the trays from Dorian and sat on his floor so as not to stain the white couch Josephine had purchased. He eagerly dove into his meal, aware of his lack of manners, but unable to care from exhaustion. The meal was exquisite despite being simple, his hunger making even the blandest foods delectable. He heard Dorian sigh.

“Very well, just don’t let it go to your head.” Dorian muttered, sitting on the couch in front of Bastien and delving into his own meal with substantially more manners than Bastien.

They ate in relative silence, for which Dorian was grateful. Mother Giselle had approached him earlier that day, Cassandra in tow likely in an attempt to intimidate him, asking his intentions towards the Inquisition. He thought he’d been rather clear at the beginning: breach threatens everyone, Corypheus is evil, kill Corypheus, Dorian leaves to fix the mess that is Tevinter, the end. They had been the most abrupt and difficult to avoid, but they weren’t the only ones casting curious glances at him. He’d been a spectacle to behold at Haven and Skyhold, standing so complacently out of everyone’s way. He rolled his eyes.

Each day, new refugees and supporters filtered in and each one had their own disgusted look for the Tevinter, the stranger, the dreaded _‘magister’-_  he scoffed internally- who’d managed to infiltrate their ranks and develop a relative friendship with their beloved Herald and Inquisitor. He was grateful to find Bastien hiding up here in his secluded loft, Dorian was desperate to be near someone who didn’t look at him like a monster, a feeling he wasn’t quite accustomed to but found he rather enjoyed.

“Is everything alright, Dorian?” He started at Bastien’s gentle question, he hadn’t even realized he’d been staring off into space. He nodded and stood to leave, but Bastien’s quiet voice stopped him. “Thank you.”

He turned to look at Bastien’s warm smile, his soft eyes and relaxed posture, and something inside him sighed awake. _Here is the one person in Skyhold not looking at me like a suspect, the one person who trusts me, who smiles at me so warmly--_ He shook his head and stomped it down, _Easy there, Pavus._ “You are welcome, but don’t get used to it.” He made it halfway down the stairs before he added, “And take a bath, you’re filthy.”

And with that Dorian departed, likely back to his little alcove in the library. Bastien stood, a bit revived now that his stomach was filled, and, fighting back the exhaustion, grabbed a change of clothes and the fluffy towel Josie had also purchased and made his way down to the baths.

\--

Bastien sighed as the warm, moist air from the baths kissed his cool skin, steam rolling off the heated water into the icy air, casting a fog about them and obscuring the other patrons. It was late, so there weren’t many, for which he was grateful.  He wasn’t looking forward to stripping down, but was pleased it wasn’t as cold as the rest of Skyhold. He peeled the layers of his clothing off, some suck with mud, others with sweat. Dorian was right: he was filthy. He added his clothing to the already substantial pile in the corner and hid his large, downy towel off in a corner after seeing that most of the men either had no towel, or had brought an old scrap of one. He really wished Josephine wouldn’t spoil him so much.

He stepped into the hot water, his toes stinging at the drastic change, and he hissed, continuing his way forward, desperate to be fully warm. He sunk in, strained muscles from the long day’s work began to relax as the molten liquid seeped into his pores, tracing through his veins and soaking into his bones. He sank up to his neck, slouching into the water with a heavy sigh and refused to move for several moments. He sucked in a quick breath before diving beneath the surface, rubbing his hands furiously through his hair, breaking up the filth.

Dorian wished he’d been more observant. By the time he’d noticed Bastien was at the baths the man was already waist deep. Not that the view was unpleasant,  but the less than savory side of his thoughts were loathe to have missed a certain aspect of the man’s powerful form. A certain aspect that had been very present in his dreams lately. Dorian leaned back against the smooth stone that lined the spring, a hand braced against his chin as Bastien inched his way into the water, a pleased smile on his face. His eyes roved shamelessly over the lithe figure, tracing those familiar little scars, the shift of his muscles beneath his skin, that flushed and relaxed expression of pleasure…Dorian shifted uncomfortably and crossed his legs. Yes it had been his idea for Bastien to go to the baths, but he expected the man to wait until he had a little bit of sleep, or that something would’ve occupied him until Dorian had left. Instead, Dorian was trapped in his corner, an unwelcome pressure between his legs, the thick steam the only think concealing him. _Perfect._

 _As if the situation could not be any better, here he comes._ Dorian sighed internally as the Inquisitor resurfaced and noticed Dorian, wading over towards him. He watched the muscles shift with the effort and traced the lines up until he met Bastien’s smiling face. Bastien sat down, a few feet away thank Andraste, and smiled at him.

“Why are you sitting all alone in the corner?” Bastien asked as he pushed his damp hair out of his face, a smile plastered on his lips, his face flushed warm thanks to the water.

“Trying to spare others the shame of being next to me.” Dorian sighed. The moment he’d walked in an entire group had packed up and left. Fine with him, less people around meant more room. He’d long since grown accustomed to the sideways looks and sharp stares, it seemed to come with the territory of pariah-hood, as well as his ‘less conventional’ tastes.

“Ah, I see.” Bastien smiled wide at Dorian’s sideways glance and tilted his head, a charming smile playing at his lips that did wonderful and unwelcome things between Dorian’s thighs despite the context of the conversation. “’Sparing them the shame of their own inferiority next to your magnificent nude form’?”

Dorian blinked at him and his air quotes as he spoke, reciting a line Dorian himself had used upon refusing to bathe in the stream with the troop on the last mission. He erupted into laughter, his mouth covered. This sweet, foolish man hadn’t even considered the alternative, immediately attributing Dorian’s comment to another catty quip about his personal supremacy as a perfect male specimen, not the cruelty and condescension of his peers. Bastien joined him, his laugh not quite as raucous as his own, but warm nonetheless, his eyes not leaving Dorian’s face.

“Of course.” He grinned and saw a little more color creep into Bastien’s cheeks as he looked away. The room had turned to look at him and the Inquisitor, no doubt thanks to his own sudden outburst. He cleared his throat and turned back to Bastien. “Well, now that I’ve drawn enough attention to myself, it is only fitting I make my departure.”

He inclined his head politely to Bastien before standing, the water stopping just below his navel. Bastien immediately looked away as Dorian strode through the water, gracefully ascending the stairs to grab his towel.

Bastien tried, very hard, not to look. But still, before he realized it, his eyes had gravitated to Dorian’s back. He shouldn’t be surprised the man was muscular; his armor showed that well enough. But without the armor obscuring anything, the lean curve of muscle, the narrow waist…he really was magnificent. Bastien turned beat red at the thought and immediately looked down, folding his hands over one another, confused and flustered at the heat spreading within him that had nothing to do whatsoever with the water. He splashed water over his face and shook his head violently, hearing a slight chuckle as he did so.

“I know.” Dorian purred, wrapping a towel around his waist and strut, rather proud of himself, from the bathhouse to the changing room. He made his way to the tent that served as his quarters for the time being, a grin plastered on his face. He’d caught Bastien staring. Suddenly, his small tent didn’t seem so cold, his cot wasn’t nearly as uninviting. He tried to chastise himself, to explain all the ways this was a terrible development, but the grin remained firmly in place.

Bastien waited a few moments before leaving himself, wrapping himself against the cool air in his thick towel before changing and rushing as quickly as he could to his own quarters. The blush was still firmly planted on his face and didn’t seem to plan on dissipating any time soon. Fortunately, he was more exhausted than he was embarrassed and, shortly after his head hit the pillow, his passed into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	25. An Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris went with Hawke to Skyhold and there is no way anyone can convince me otherwise.

Dorian was positively bored to tears. Varric had snared Bastien away just over an hour ago to go meet his ‘friend’. He was fairly certain this ‘friend’ was none other than Garrett Hawke. And where he was, no doubt his boyfriend was; his brooding ex-Tevinter slave boyfriend who’d taken a habit of killing Dorian’s countrymen. None that warranted mourning, but it would be best if they avoided one another completely.

Bastien had been chomping at the bit the moment Varric motioned him over, bouncing on his heels, eager to meet the legendary Champion of Kirkwall. He’d invited Dorian to join and he’d nearly accepted, for no other reason than to watch Bastien act like a child as he met a hero. To watch that lovely warm glow flood his cheeks and radiate off him as he beamed like the sun. But, news that a certain elf had accompanied stayed his hand and he smiled as politely as he could to Bastien before watching him eagerly run off with Varric.

Dorian paced his alcove, sighing repeatedly. He lifted several books, but they held no interest for him, his nerves were dancing for some unknowable reason. Certainly not because Bastien was meeting with a man legendary for his charm, that had absolutely nothing to do with it. Bastien was free to meet with, speak with, and smile at whomever he desired, even if that someone wasn’t him, even if he really wanted that someone to be him. He turned on his heel and began to rummage through the books, pulling out the chantry propaganda and tossing it over the edge.

“Dorian!” Solas shouted from below, a book slamming onto his desk. “If you are going to be so disruptive then leave!”

Dorian tossed another book over the ledge for good measure, hearing the man curse in elvhen as he turned down the stairs. He made a rather undignified face at the agitated elf before pushing through the door, crossing the recently finished bridge towards Cullen’s office. Perhaps a game of chess would take his mind off things.

It didn’t. He sighed, failed miserably at cheating, even tried flirting but the Commander wasn’t swayed. He lost rather ungracefully before standing and walking off, no destination in mind, he simply couldn’t sit still. It drove him mad. What business was it of his who Bastien spoke with? It meant nothing to him. Let the man go and flirt with whom he wanted, Dorian certainly didn’t intend to stop. Let him share those warm smiles and that maddening grin, let someone else get him flustered and make that wonderful blush cover him to his navel. It was none of his concern.

_That’s a lie and you know it._ He bit his cheek to silence his inner voice. Not that it mattered, the thought had already sunken in and taken hold. He stormed back up the stairs, his gaze drifted briefly over towards Hawke, the mop of dark hair standing entirely too close to Bastien for Dorian’s liking. Or perhaps it was the large grin spread over Bastien’s features, the excitement that beamed off of him even at this distance, that Dorian was more bothered by.

_What’s gotten into you, Pavus? Can’t handle a little competition?_ Dorian snarled at his own thought. _Since when was I fighting for it?_ He glanced back, caught a glimpse of stunning white hair and entered the great hall, regardless of his thoughts, he had no desire to meet Fenris. He stood in the foyer, the deep red banners gave the room a warm glow against the fires, the massive throne draped in furs gave the entire room a rather rustic but comfortable feel, but it did nothing to comfort him now. He pressed forward, his mind set on a distraction. Bastien was out, his journal was unattended, and there were doubtless new entries for Dorian’s perusal. Surely that would distract him well enough.

He slipped through the door unnoticed and began the long ascent, closing the door silently behind him when he finally reached the loft. He found the notebook sitting at the desk and sighed, Bastien hadn’t heeded his advice and learned to hide it.

_But then how would you know what he was thinking?_

He sat down in the plush green velvet chair and lifted the book and was a bit startled. Beneath it was his sketch book opened to a drawing. Corypheus’ face stared back at him and he shuddered. Of course their enemy had to be an ancient Magister. He rolled his eyes and turned the page. A man he didn’t know stared back at him, his features fairly similar to Bastien’s, but more angular. His eyes were soft and kind, a subtle smile on his lips, his complexion fair. Several spots on the page were crinkled, tears having fallen on them and dried. _This must be his brother._ He smiled gently at the face, mentally paying his respects to the cherished man who'd done so much for Bastien before turning the page once more.

Varric’s face stood out at him this time, his eyes rounded and sad. Dorian’s brow furrowed, he’d never seen this expression on the man, but, now that he thought about it, Varric had plenty to look sad about. He and his brother had single-handedly unleashed red lyrium on the masses, fueling Meredith’s rage and leading to the subsequent slaughter and tranquility of several mages. He turned the page and saw Sera, her eyes slightly narrowed and suspicious with the slightest hint of fear. He’d never pictured the vulgar elf as a scared little girl, but it made sense. She was relatively young, compared to the rest of their troop, and was faced with so many unknowns. Not to mention her hatred of all things fade related. He was fairly certain he’d seen this look on her once before when she looked at Cole.

_Speak of the devil._ Dorian muttered as he turned the next page and came face to face with the eerie spirit in question. But instead of the drawn, forlorn expression the boy usually carried, he seemed… _Happy?_ What an odd expression on his features, his usually wide eyes narrowed, his mouth turned up just slightly at the corners in a rather pure expression of joy that Dorian couldn’t help but feel himself, his own lips tugging up at the corners - until he turned the page.

His portrait stared back at him. The curve of his jaw was immaculate, the curl of his moustache over slightly upturned lips. _Ah, so he was smiling, that’s simple enough._ He traced the lines of his face with a stern eye, more critical of himself than he was the others. The hair was well done, styled perfectly, as was his nose was perfect though the line looked redrawn a few times. But his eyes made him start. _Sad?_ He tilted his head, _Not simply sad._ There was some form of…vulnerability in his eyes, shining and intelligent, _of course_ , but the remorse there unnerved him. He’d worked so hard to develop his mask and Bastien saw right through it. Yes, he’d known that already, but seeing it all put to paper made it so much more real. Now it wasn’t speculation, it was reality, it was something Bastien _saw_ in him.

A hand reached forward and took the book quickly from his hands, snapping it shut. Dorian’s gaze flicked up to see Bastien, bright red, staring down at him from the other side of the desk. Apparently his meeting with Hawke had ended.

“You are…quite talented.” Dorian bit his cheek at the sound of his voice wavering, his throat tight. He held out his hand, “May I see it again?” Bastien froze, “Please.”

He slowly handed the book back over to Dorian, a mild concern tugging at his features. Dorian opened the book again, hoping the vulnerability he’d seen in his eyes had simply been a trick of the light. But, no matter how Dorian turned it, his own haunted eyes stared back at him. A throat cleared.

“Do…do you like it?” Bastien tried a smile, the corner tugging up slightly but doing nothing to abate the insecurity in his eyes. Then again, Dorian’s continued silence probably wasn’t helping either. “Your eyes were the hardest part.”

Dorian smiled at that, at least he’d struggled with articulating Dorian’s frailty to paper. He closed the book and set it gently in its original resting place on the desk and stood, unable to meet Bastien’s gaze.

“Yes, it is a very astute portrait. Well done.” He murmured, inclining his head quickly to Bastien before turning towards the stairs with a quick stride, intent to be anywhere but there.

“I’m sorry.” Bastien muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Dorian turned, an eyebrow raised.

“Whatever for?”

“My drawings.” He sighed, lifting the book to turn it over in his hands, shaking his head as he flipped through the pages, “I know they’re terrible, no one ever likes the portraits I do.”

_Because they reveal truths about themselves they wish to keep hidden, as I thought I had._

“Nonsense. You are an incredible artist, any fault they find with your drawings are faults they find within themselves.”

Bastien raised his eyebrows at him before smiling down at the sketch. He nodded briefly and lifted his eyes, warm and welcoming towards Dorian, “Thank you.”

Dorian nodded, returning the smile with one of his own and contemplated staying, of ruining everything by throwing himself on the Inquisitor, to do something to abate the raw and vulnerable feeling tearing at his heart. Would he be rejected? He honestly was not sure. How much of that open hearted nature was just for him? How much of it was for everyone? Could they have something special? Something real? He bowed slightly before heading down the stairs. He needed wine. Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos mean love!


	26. A Touch of Self Pity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian romance - where we all learn how important communication is.

The tavern was delightfully busy, and no one made a fuss when one more man entered silently and sat at the bar. He’d start with the good stuff and when he was sufficiently drunk and couldn’t taste anymore, he’d switch to the terrible but potent ale they served. No sense wasting the good stuff on a numb palate. The dwarf behind the bar handed him a glass of brandy and he downed it in two swigs, barely tasting the warm spices within or the rich vanilla undertones he’d so enjoyed before when he’d sipped at it in his alcove.

His mind was buzzing. Bastien had seen through him so easily. Such a simple sketch done by an observant individual and a skillful hand had undone him so quickly. His thoughts quickly flew to intimacy best left untouched, a notion he honestly hadn’t been able to stamp out. He shook his head and downed another glass. How, when he’d slipped through life so callous and flippant, when he’d solidified this mask to fool even the most careful observer, when so many simply disregarded him, how had he been disarmed and discovered so easily? _Too much thinking, Pavus._ He downed another glass in one large gulp. The fog began to prick the back of his mind. _Good._

Fortunately, it only took him five glasses of good brandy for his tongue to go sufficiently numb, and, as he’d planned sober, his drunken self switched over to the piss ale. Two mugs into that and he was feeling rather sorry for himself, his mind not quite pleasantly numb. He tipped his glass up and noticed it empty. He gestured to the bartender once more who refilled his mug.

“Altus.” A voice slurred behind him. He didn’t bother to look. “I thought I smelled you come in.”

“You should have, I spent a small fortune on this oil.” Dorian slurred back, waving a dismissive hand in the direction he thought the voice had come from. Suddenly, his ale was dumped over his head. He blinked and sneered as the noxious liquid filled his nostrils, drowning out the expensive embrium oil he’d slicked his hair with, matting it down over his face. He turned and sneered at the figure only to be met with a shock of white hair, pointed ears with the tips turned down, and a rather vicious snarl.

“Do not dismiss me so quickly, _mage_.” He growled the word in the same tone he’d comment on stepping in shit.

_Excellent. What could make this day better but a mutually drunken encounter with Fenris. Stay quiet, Pavus, and he’ll leave._

The man hated the Altus and mages for a very intimate reason, one Dorian didn’t fault him for in the least. He honestly found everything about him very interesting, but knew their differing opinions on what should happen to Tevinter long term were so radically different they could never get along. And so he’d avoided going anywhere near the man, and had devoted himself to staying silent, if for no other reason to keep hostile thoughts from turning into actions.

Unfortunately, Drunk Dorian didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

“Correct me if I am wrong,” _Shut it. Shut it right now._ “But aren’t you _fucking_ a mage?”

 _Ah…well…there’s that then._ He sighed internally even as Fenris grabbed the back of his shirt, pulled him off his stool and tossed him to the ground before descending on him. He would apologize to the other patrons later. He unleashed the sloppiest mind blast of his life, throwing Fenris off of him and into a wall across the room. Several patrons fell over, chairs skidding loudly against the wood floors, patrons still seated within. Some laughed, some shouted, some stumbled over in confusion, a few bolted out the door into the dark night beyond. Dorian slowly pulled himself up.

Fenris recovered quickly and was already marching back towards Dorian only to have his ankles frozen to the ground, along with several nearby chairs. Dorian was a sloppy caster when he was drunk. Arrogance took hold at the slightly terrified and offended look on the elf’s face, and he smiled at Fenris before turning back to the bar.

“Do you let him bind you with his magic? It can be quite fun.” Dorian grinned, laughing outright at the enraged look on the elf’s face, “I didn’t realize you were ashamed of your relationship,” Dorian drawled, immediately sinking his teeth into the soft spot as he turned towards the bar, “I suppose that’s why you wear that bright red sash ‘round your wrist? His emblem on your hip? Or do you prefer to let him mark you elsewhere?” 

He heard the ice breaking behind him but was too stunted to turn quickly and instead his face met the floor rather quickly, a jarring sensation, as his legs were swept out from under him. He turned with an undignified snarl on his lips, dragging himself to stand.

“Is this how it works between you and Hawke? Fascinating, I always imagined he’d have you on your knees.” Dorian tongue moved of its own free will, despite the subconscious screaming to shut up and stop being such an ass, but apparently he was in the mood for a fight, and after some barbed words at the soft spot, Fenris was more than happy to kick his ass. A rough hand grabbed him by his shoulder and turned him to face the elf, now glowing blue, hand aimed and ready.

“Enough, Mage.” Fenris growled, his grip on Dorian’s throat now and Dorian felt the lyrium like a drug as it followed the veins and clouded his mind even further, Fenris' other arm drawn back and poised to strike. He saw the swing coming, braced himself for impact, but it never came. His eyes opened to find Fenris’ glowing fist locked in a strange hand, one that was currently sparking and glowing bright green. His eyes slid lazily over to Bastien, who’d wrapped an arm around Dorian to support him now that Fenris was no longer holding him up. He’d never seen such a strained look on the man’s face as he shoved back hard, the elf stumbling back several steps. Bastien’s arm locked tighter around his waist, his body turned and ready to fight the elf on Dorian’s behalf. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth twitching in what almost looked like a snarl, like a challenge. He sighed inwardly, _well done, Pavus, I hope you are proud of yourself._  In a way, a very drunken and subtle way, he was. Bastien stood tall, the fierce protector, _his_ protector, holding him tightly, flush against him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so secure.

“That’s enough, Fenris.” A gravelly voice penetrated the stunned silence of the tavern as Garrett Hawke sauntered into the room, wrapping his arms gently around the elf and burying his face in his silver hair. “You’ve made your point.”

“But he-“

“I know,” Hawke turned Fenris around, a soft smile on his face, “And normally you wouldn’t let it get to you. Come, let’s get some rest, it’s been a long day for both of us.”

He watched as Fenris melted under that warm blue gaze, his tension slipping away until he sighed. Hawke smiled, broad, warm and charming down at Fenris, lacing their fingers together before leading him out of the tavern.

Dorian would give anything for someone to look at him like that. He bit his cheek hard. _A touch too hard._ He thought as the metallic tang of his own blood began to trickle into his mouth. He waved his hand, flooding his cheek with a bit too much healing magic, it took away some of his buzz and he grumbled, trying to wrench free of Bastien’s grip and pull back over to the bar. One more glass of brandy would clear this right up.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’ve had enough for one evening.” Bastien muttered as he hefted Dorian up by his belt, dragging him closer. He leaned in his ear, “Dorian please, I know you’ve already made a scene but at least pretend it’s your idea to leave. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

Dorian turned and stared at the man’s face, his very close face. His features were firm but his eyes were gentle and pleading and so he sighed, tucking his arm beneath Bastien’s, motioning for him to venture onward. Bastien smiled and turned, giving a slight wave to the patrons before leading them out into the cold evening air.

It pricked his skin and he shuddered involuntarily. The alcohol warmed his blood, but his body was accustomed to far warmer temperatures. Bastien’s arm moved its way from his waist to wrap around his shoulders, the light cloak he wore coming with it to cover Dorian as well. He leaned into the touch, Bastien practically radiated heat.

He made it to the top of the stairs leading to the lower courtyard before slamming on the breaks. He didn’t want to go back to his tent, not yet. He wasn’t ready for the fitful sleep that awaited him as he was flooded with his past. His father’s face flashed unwelcome in his mind and he nearly growled. He turned on his heel, pulling Bastien with him, and stumbled away from the stairs.

“Dorian-“

“I am not quite ready to be alone.” _Was that what he’d meant to say?_ “Please, bear with me a bit longer.” _I just want to be in your warmth a bit longer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos give me life!


	27. An Evening Pause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you like the long chapters or would you like them shorter? Message me on tumblr or comment here! If you have a tumblr, why not follow Bastien? https://www.tumblr.com/blog/awkwardblushing

Bastien shifted in his seat, scooting closer to keep Dorian covered in his cloak, the thick fabric plenty large enough to wrap around the two and still close in front. No doubt the man was freezing, he hadn’t stopped shivering. They’d settled into the little garden, swath with flowers and bathed in moonlight, just over an hour ago. Dorian had fallen silent, but refused to depart, unwilling to be alone and refusing to go to sleep. Bastien stole glances at him and saw that look he’d drawn a few days ago. The sadness, the vulnerability, the remorse were all written plainly on his features, the mask slipped away and all bared to the world.

He wanted to ask what had happened, to get Dorian’s side in addition to what the poor screaming patron had brought to Hawke and himself in the war room. ‘Dorian picked a fight with Fenris’, then another story stating that Fenris had been the one to pick the fight. Neither of them had wasted a moment, charging as quickly as possible to the tavern, both well aware of how quickly it could descend in to something far worse than a brawl. By the time they’d shown up, everyone was silent and watching the two equally inebriated individuals stumble their way around before the fire. He clenched his hands tightly together beneath the cloak. Fenris had gone too far. His hand on Dorian’s throat was too much, and there was no way he was going to let that punch land. He wanted to knock Fenris to the ground, regardless of the fact that he was a personal fan, and beat the living shit out of him.

That level of aggression was a strange feeling to him. It wasn't as if he'd never killed before, or had never been in a fight, attack an ally because they went after one of his own in a drunken brawl? To reduce himself to joining a drunken brawl? He shook his head as Dorian shivered beside him. He needed to get Dorian inside, in front of a fire, before the man became ill. He motioned to stand and Dorian followed, allowing himself to be led through the garden. He turned to speak, but the words died on his tongue and he sighed, intent on going a different direction when Dorian began.

“Thank you.” He sighed, “For keeping me from making more of an ass of myself.”

“You’re welcome.” He murmured in response, his head hung as they continued to walk down the narrow paths in the garden back towards the keep. “What happened?”

“Oh, the usual, I couldn’t stop wagging my tongue.” A sharp, bitter laugh followed Dorian’s words and they fell silent for a few moments more, the sound of their footfalls on the stone echoing in the space. Bastien shifted uncomfortably before a sigh passed his lips, his head hung.

“I’ll tear it up.” Bastien turned to face Dorian despite their proximity huddled beneath the cloak, his eyes gentle, “I’m sorry.”

“What on earth are you on about?” Dorian groaned, rubbing his temple, his fingers freezing.

“The portrait.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin in a nervous gesture before withdrawing his hand into the cloak. “I wasn’t really expecting anyone to see it.”  

He gave Dorian a pointed look and he laughed, though he was unsure if he truly wished it ruined. Even if that had started the slide, it wasn’t what brought him this low, that was a different tower entirely. It simply hinged on his ability to keep it all hidden for the rest of his life.  “I did tell you to hide it better.”

They fell back into silence as Bastien gestured him through a door towards a flight of stairs. He removed his cloak and draped it over Dorian’s shoulders, ignoring the cold that pricked his skin. Dorian needed it much more than he did, he wouldn’t stop shivering.

“I didn’t realize the inner workings of my mind were so interesting to you.” Bastien grinned, glad the mood was a bit lighter, he didn’t handle heavy well. Besides, this was not a conversation to have when drunk.

“Please, even the internal machinations of a barbarian are more interesting than this place any given day.” Dorian scoffed, following after Bastien up the stairs.

“Ah, so I’m still a barbarian then?” Bastien turned one of his charming smiles on Dorian, his eyes and expression warm and inviting.

Dorian’s mind flooded with images, not a single one of them was appropriate and nearly all of them involved Bastien in the nude being rather rough. The effect of that smile was like lightning down his spine. He cleared his throat and ran his hand down his face. That train of thought would only get him in trouble. _However, that is how you handle your problems. Get drunk and have sex with a stranger._

 _No, he means more than that._ Dorian felt the color in his cheeks, _since when?_

“Did you just…blush?” Bastien paused, blinking. Dorian continued walking up the stairs to his unknown destination, ready to be anywhere but here.

“It’s the brandy.” He deflected, pushing through another door. He paused on the threshold. _Andraste’s tits_. Bastien motioned him further upwards, and when he wouldn’t move, sighed and continued on past him. “Why, pray tell, are we in your bedroom?”

Bastien turned and looked down the stairs at Dorian, head tilted. His room was the warmest, best furnished space in the entirety of Skyhold. If Dorian refused to go back to his own room, refused to be alone, well his room was plenty big enough for the both of them without either freezing their bits off.

 “Because it’s warmer than the garden?” He offered and Dorian looked away, staring at the door like he may bolt. “C’mon.” He waved Dorian up and turned back to his room. If the man fled, he’d have to follow and he really didn’t feel like being out in the cold anymore.

He closed the side door he’d left open much earlier that afternoon to freshen the air, cutting off the cold wind that blew against the fire. He grabbed one of the logs from the pile continuously stocked and tossed it into the flames. Sparks flew at the impact as the flames slowly began to consume the log, creeping along the bits of straw and leaves left behind, flaring brightly as they worked their way down. The bits of pine sap still clinging to the wood sparked and hissed, the steam scenting the radiating heat with crisp pine outwards, chasing the chill from the room and his limbs alike.  

He turned and saw Dorian standing at the top of the stairs in his cloak staring like a scared animal around the room. He motioned him over to stand by the flames and, slowly, he complied. He stopped near the fire, but still a foot or so away from Bastien. Bastien turned to take the cloak and Dorian flinched, causing Bastien to jump at his sudden movement.

“I was going to put the cloak away.” He offered, holding his hand out for the garment in question. Dorian removed it in a flourish, the fabric whipping through the air onto Bastien’s arm who immediately made his way over to his closet.

What in the world was going on with Dorian? He wondered, glancing to the man staring pensively into the flames. It was like Bastien led him to privacy so he could reprimand or beat him for his actions in the tavern. He frowned, he had very little idea what it was really like in Tevinter aside from Dorian’s stories, but some of the stories his mother used to tell him began to surface. Did they really beat their children and use them for blood rituals? Did they really lure strangers into their homes to do terrible, unspeakable things them? Did Dorian think him capable of such violence towards a friend? He shuddered and placed the cloak on the hook.

 _How can I say no?_ Dorian pondered, watching the flames dance and flicker without a care in the world. The soft pine scent tickled his nose as warm waves washed over his skin, chasing away the evening chill. _Would I say no?_ He countered his own argument. If Bastien had brought him up here for something…primal Dorian wasn’t entirely sure he could say no, or if he wanted to say no. He would, however, be rather surprised, he hadn’t thought Bastien to be a ‘let’s just have fun’ type of man. He always seemed so…innocent.  A sardonic grin spread on his lips. _He reads people far better than you, Pavus. We all have a mask._

“Here. This is warmer.” Bastien had reappeared beside him, holding a thick, long sleeved sweater and a loose pair of breeches in his hand. Dorian glanced down at the clothing, to his own sparse leathers, then up to Bastien’s sweet, smiling face. His smile spread, a laugh bubbling up in his throat, tumbling forth gracelessly as he covered his mouth. Bastien smiled gently, but his eyes were confused. _What a sweet fool._ Dorian returned the smile, taking the clothes from him and disappearing into a closet nearby to change.

Bastien stared after him, entirely lost. Why did he laugh so hard? It was a wonderful sound, one that still sent waves of warmth over his skin, and despite the confusion he found himself eager to hear it again. He sighed and stared at the fire. Over the last few days, he’s missed Dorian. They’d been in the same building, they’d spoken on occasion, and neither of them had truly gone anywhere, but still deep in his chest, something felt like it was missing. It was worse at night, when he found himself tossing and turning in his too large bed. The logs shifted and rained sparks in the fireplace. He leaned over and added another, the few leaves attached to it cracked and sparked, flaring brightly as they were consumed. 

He didn’t understand. Well, he understood that it was possible… for two men to… He coughed and cleared his throat, his cheeks burning, crossing his arms tightly around his chest. _Makers breath._ He sighed, he needed to be honest with himself. He missed a man he saw regularly, when he spoke, Bastien’s heart sped up just a bit, and _Maker_ when he laughed. Bastien was hopeless and confused, and admittedly more than a little taken with Dorian. But how on earth did one court a man? Was that what he wanted? He could honestly say he had no idea, he’d never done anything like this before, regardless of gender. Would Dorian even be interested? He really wished he could write all of this down in his journal, but he knew for a fact Dorian would read it, and then what? No, he had to figure this out in his head.

The door creaked behind him and Dorian strutted out from the closet, his tight leathers exchanged for Bastien’s large sweater that was just a bit too big, draping over his slightly narrower shoulders and swinging loosely around his narrower waist. He’d cleaned the ale from his skin and hair and styled it back as it typically was with water.  The breeches were loosely and haphazardly tied and the man looked absolutely ready for bed. Bastien committed the sight to memory.

“My sweater looks good on you.” He smiled, smile failing when he caught the undertone of his words: _My clothes look good on your body._ He sighed, defeated, but Dorian only laughed, immediately replacing the smile on his lips.

“Naturally.” Dorian curled his moustache and grinned at the man. How foolish he was, thinking Bastien, of all people, had coaxed him into his chambers to attempt to have his way with him. Bastien probably wasn’t even interested in men. _A pity._ He mentally slapped his inner voice and flopped himself down on the large, ornate bed in the center of the room, the gaudy Orlesian style likely Josephine or Leliana’s doing. _It could very well be Bastien’s, you know nothing of the man._ What better time to start?

“I must admit your tastes are a little…excessive.” _Excellent, Dorian, insult him. That’ll get you far._

Bastien groaned, “It’s not mine. Leliana had that brought here from some… I can’t even pronounce what their title was… lady in Orlais. She swears up and down it is the most incredible bed in existence. Too big if you ask me.”

 _Depends on what you’re doing in it._ Dorian wanted to laugh at himself. A few moments earlier, he’d been trying to decide how to turn Bastien down. Now that he knew it wasn’t the man’s intention, Dorian’s mind was filled with all kinds of obscene uses for this oversized bed.

Bastien smiled, happy Dorian took the bed. The thing was too big for him anyway and made him feel rather alone, and he felt alone enough disowned by his family, not to mention sitting high on his isolated pedestal of ‘yes, inquisitor’s and ‘of course, my lord’s. He changed quickly into his own pajamas, a loose tunic and remarkably comfortable soft sleeping breeches Leliana had gifted him from Val Royeaux a few days ago. He fell heavily onto the plush couch with a sigh, grabbing the thick fluffy blanket draped over the back and pulled it over himself, tucking it up to his chin and yawning widely. Dorian was tucked safely away, having nested himself beneath the sheets of Bastien’s bed while he was changing.

“What are you doing?” Dorian snapped from his place and Bastien jumped.

“I-uh…Sleeping?”

“On the couch of your own bedroom? I think not.” Dorian scoffed, “The bed is plenty big for both of us, it will be like a more comfortable version of sharing a tent.”

 _What are you doing, Pavus?_ He smiled to himself. He knew the man would likely end up wrapped around him during the night and wake up all adorably flustered and embarrassed, but a part of him was counting on it. _Apparently I’m in the mood to torture myself._  

Bastien’s cheeks burned and he froze, mouth moving like he was trying to think of a way to decline. Dorian sighed, “Do it on your own or I will carry you over here.”

The look on Dorian’s face left no room for doubt and Bastien stood, arm successfully twisted, with the large blanket in his hand. In all honesty, he wanted to share the bed with Dorian, to wrap him up in his arms once more and fall fast asleep, comfortable and warm. He felt the color on his cheeks even as he shifted to lie on top of the plush blankets of the bed, pulling the one from the couch around himself. With his back turned to Dorian, he let the small smile creep to his lips as he quickly drifted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, Comments, and/or follows are life!


	28. Bed Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, its not the giggity kind. Sorry guys. (Though maybe later....)

Dorian’s eyes fluttered open and he was startled at first, not quite sure where he was, but he calmed quickly as his memory from the night before returned. A lazy motion of his fingers removed the mild headache creeping behind his eyelids, sharpened by the muted sunlight pouring over the gilt bedframe. The first rays of dawn were peeking through the colored glass panes casting their designs on the white marble floors. A slight chill was in the air, frost creeping against the glass. The fire flared back to life with a thought, starving on the remnants of its meal the night before, now fueled solely by Dorian’s mana.

_Sweet Andraste it’s going to be even colder today, one more reason not to move._

He slowly snuggled deeper into the blankets and the figure curled gloriously around his frame shifted to accommodate him. The warm, earthy smell of the man filled his nostrils and he smiled, despite the faint smell of horse. If he were being perfectly candid, he was coming to enjoy the smell of horses, simply because it reminded him of these moments with Bastien. It was not a development he was all too pleased with, though it did nothign to hamper the smile spread on his lips, he wasn’t truly certain anything could. The moment he sat still, the arms curled him closer, one arm propped beneath his neck, weaving around to brace across his chest and shoulder, the other draped lazily over his waist, fingertips brushing gently with each breath at the exposed skin beneath his navel. Through the fabric, he felt the bristle from Bastien’s cheeks, soft lips pressed against his shoulder, and he smiled.

What harm would it do to stay like this, to steal this little slice of peace and quiet in a warm embrace, to feel welcomed and comforted in a world full of icy stares and poisonous whispers? The arms around him twitched and the figure shifted, pulling him closer as Bastien nuzzled his face into the crook of Dorian’s neck and a chill raced down his spine, racing alongside the warm breaths caressing his skin, the scratchy bristles of his chin. He resisted the urge to lean down and press his lips to the hand braced over his chest. _What harm? Look at yourself, Pavus._

He cringed internally as the thought soured this sweet morning. Why couldn’t his mind just let him enjoy these platonic moments? _You don’t want platonic._ He rolled his eyes. It didn’t matter what he wanted. Bastien wasn’t interested. Aside from that, the rumors and gossip alone would tear down the Inquisition. Sleeping with a Tevinter? Oh, the scandal. Poor Josephine would positively faint beneath the strain. And that was provided Bastien was even interested.

The figure behind him stiffened suddenly, his form going entirely rigid as Bastien woke and realized where he was. Dorian grinned; he knew exactly where this was going. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. _Constant teasing is right._

Bastien’s eyes fluttered open and he froze, cursing internally. Once more, Dorian was wrapped in his arms. His heart leapt to his throat at the realization before sinking and pounding wildly in his chest. His arm was braced over the man’s chest, his hand against the shoulder locking him in place and pressing him closer, while the other rested dangerously low on his abdomen. The heat spread as his blush covered him head to toe. _Maker, this is why I wanted to sleep on the couch._

Not that he minded or wanted to move. His face was burrowed in the crook of Dorian’s neck, all soft skin and scented oils. But Dorian was still asleep and this was his chance to escape with his pride intact. But what if Dorian would sleep a while longer... could Bastien just close his eyes and go back to sleep? The idea was immensely tempting, and for a moment, he thought he may actually do it. Until he realized how brightly the fire burned in the hearth despite a lack of logs to feed it. _Dorian was awake._

He was beginning to wonder if Bastien was ever going to move. He was frozen in place, his face still pressed into his neck, his arms still tight around him, but Dorian was certain he was awake. He even felt the man begin to relax, as if he was going to fall right back asleep. _Well, that’s interesting._ He fought the bitter sensation tracing through his limbs as Bastien gently began to pull away.

“Do we truly need to be out of bed?” Dorian murmured into his pillow, a grin on his lips, “I was rather comfortable.”

He felt the bed shift as Bastien moved further away, heard the soft pat of his feet hitting the floors as he hung them over the edge. He heard the stubble scrape against Bastien’s calloused palms and sighed to sit up himself, pulling the blanket up with him as he yawned and propped himself against the headboard. He glanced over to Bastien and grinned wider, the poor man’s face was so red and he refused to make eye contact. Usually, Dorian would see that as a slight, but with Bastien he knew it was simply raw and unrefined embarrassment at his own actions, not Dorian’s presence. It was a nice change.

“I am _so_ sorry, Dorian.” Bastien murmured between his hands, unwilling to pull them from his cheeks and look at the man. Perhaps if he just kept his hands in front of his face, he could just hide and all of this would just breeze past him. But this time there was no scout to come and save him from this talk, no knock at the door, no interruptions. Just him, and, when he looked up, Dorian staring at him with those beautiful eyes and… _maker his hair._ Dorian’s usually immaculate hair was all a mess, the ale having washed out the oil he styled it with, leaving it to be mussed up by the pillows. With no restraint or styling, his hair jutted in every which way, resting gently against his scalp. Bastien’s fingers twitched with the urge to brush it back, it looked so soft and perfect scattered across his brow and that perfect nose, one side flat against the side of his head thanks to the pillow. His mustache had lost its curl, hanging loose against his mouth. He only barely managed to restrain himself from burying his fingers into that magnificent hair, covering his mouth and looking away once more.

“What?” Dorian asked, his brow drawn at the look on Bastien’s face and that burning look in his eyes as it shot a pleasant thrill down his spine. _Sweet Andraste, if you want to touch me just touch me._ He growled in his head, his skin sparked with it.

Bastien took a hand and tugged on his own hair before pointing to Dorian and his eyes went wide. Dorian’s hands shot up to his hair and found it loose and shaggy across is features, brushing against the tips of his ears and just below his eyebrows. He cursed and stood out of bed, walking directly to the water basin.

Bastien stood to follow but immediately sat back down, sucking in a deep breath. _When had he…_ He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, praying Dorian wouldn’t walk over here. He listened to him curse and sputter at the water basin while he recited old Chantry mantra’s in his head until he was able to stand. He slipped into the closet and changed quickly. The new clothes left in the wardrobe the day prior. He stepped out, adjusting the white dragon scale gloves, to find the bed made and Dorian already changed and looking as flawless and composed as ever. He was sorry to point it out, but he wasn’t sure he could function, much less get out of bed, with Dorian’s hair so gloriously disheveled.

He smiled at the face Dorian made and bowed, “Say hello to the distinct lack of beige.”

“No more beige?” Dorian smiled as casually as he could. They’d spoken before about how dreadful the beige was, and how Bastien did not see it as a priority to remedy the maker forsaken clothing choices. Now, Dorian wished he’d kept the beige, with this red and white getup, the only thing Dorian could think of was how to get it off.

“Maker no, no more beige.” He paused a moment before rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, “I’m really sorry about this morning Dorian. I should’ve stayed on the couch and-“

“Nonsense.” Dorian cut him off, dismissing him with a wave of his hand, turning to leave lest some messenger come and find him this early in the Inquisitor’s quarters. Rumors would be flying enough after his idiocy last night. “I insisted, therefore the blame is mine.”

Bastien stayed put before the fire, wringing his hands and looking for all the world like he had something he wanted to say. Dorian paused at the flight of the stairs and waited, an eyebrow raised. He smiled at the sweet, flustered, precious man in front of him. But Bastien’s hands fell, giving up on whatever it was he would’ve said and smiled.

“I’ll see you down at breakfast, we leave for Crestwood this afternoon.”

Dorian inclined his head, wishing Bastien would have just said whatever it was that spread that blush on his cheeks instead, “As you say, Inquisitor.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been so long! School has been hectic and once I start writing I don't stop! Next week should, theoretically, be much easier and I will HOPEFULLY get a few more chapters up! I promise at least one!


	29. Crestwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an apology for posting 'Shatter Me', where Bastien tells Dorian he loves him and Dorian... panics. Also to cheer myself up.

The smell of rot was everywhere in Crestwood, from the corpses in the mire to the wood of the flooded buildings. Burning bodies around every turn permeated the air with the stench of roasting diseased flesh.  Every door they opened unleashed a fresh waft of death and at least one corpse in varying stages of decay. Each one that approached was shrunken and shriveled, some with entrails spilling forth, some with wounds that had long since stopped bleeding, all trailing the rain in the most horrifying manner as bits of skin were washed away. 

They’d managed to drain the lake and resurrect old Crestwood from the ashes, finding countless corpses and demons writhing along the slick silt floor. Bastien was covered in muck, unable to catch his footing in the slime, causing him to slide back or stumble with each blow to his shield. The only thing which had even remotely kept him clean was the constant onslaught of rain. But now, deep in the bowels of old Crestwood, he somehow managed to look even worse. Perhaps it was the thick, acrid stench of the waterlogged corpses as they threw their bodies against him.

“Maker, did it have to be a cave?” Bastien grumbled, his face pale even as his feet continued forward. His hands clenched tightly around his sword as they began the descent through the narrow corridor, carefully sidestepping the eerie spirits as they danced about them.

 “Are you alright?” Dorian asked gently, carefully making his way to Bastien’s side in the faint lamplight. “You look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine.” Bastien snapped before sighing, his eyes apologetic to Dorian. “I’m... Let’s just get this over with.”

He froze as another red wisp brushed past them, sending a chill through all of them. It paused at the top of a wooden ramp, strange hand beckoning them lower, deep into the bowels of the earth. A second wisp followed, weaving its way past, laughing cheerfully as a child and sending chills up Bastien’s spine. He groaned and pushed a hand through his damp hair, his sigh rushing out sharply through his teeth.

“Down? Really?” He snapped to no one in particular as he began to make his way down the ramp, “ _Under_ the Maker forsaken lake!?”

The wood was slick but stable, despite having soaked beneath tons of water for the last ten years. They picked their way carefully through the tunnels, Dorian holding his staff forward, vibrant flames licking against the cold damp air as its glow shimmered off the path. They rounded a corner and came face to…face with a massive rage demon. Bastien charged forward, his boots catching ground against the damp stone floors, allowing him to firmly plant the sword in the beast’s side before rushing out of the way.

Seconds later, the beast was frozen solid by a well timed winters grasp and shattered to pieces beneath a well placed shield bash from Cassandra. The shades went down just as quickly. The next corner yielded a startlingly welcome surprise, a huge fade rift. This had to be the one causing the undead, get rid of it, and that’s the end of Crestwood’s largest problem. No one in the party hesitated, all equally eager to get rid of the foul monsters.

Dorian saw a terror fall beneath Bastien’s sword and immediately resurrected it, sending it to fight back to back with Bastien. It was the closest to fighting alongside him Dorian could manage, and damned if he wasn’t going to do it well. When the beasts before him fell, Bastien turned and raised his sword to the Terror, who ignored him completely. He saw the flash of confusion and smiled.

By the time he approached, Bastien was trying to communicate with the thing. It was sweet to see, this warrior likely raised to hate all things magical trying to communicate with a demon simply because it didn’t try to kill him. Dorian sauntered up beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It is a corpse. I sent him to help you.” He grinned, a dazzling thing that glinted in the green light of the rift, waiting for its last corpse to return to its folds before allowing itself to be closed.

“You’re a necromancer?” Bastien seemed to shudder at that, but he didn’t pull away from Dorian’s hand, if anything he leaned against it.

“Mortalitasi, actually.” He smiled, taking half a step closer, leaning in to whisper the words in Bastien’s ear, his hand snaking around to the side of his neck to keep him close. Now was his chance to tease Bastien, to see just how far he could push before it was too much. It had become his latest pastime on the long and boring treks through Thedas, just how far could he go before the Inquisitor rushed away blushing. He was helping to save the world and he was certain Andraste could relinquish him this little torture.

“T-that’s…um…I know very little about it.” He stammered, swallowing a lump in his throat. Dorian felt the pulse beneath his fingers flutter as his hand slid from shoulder to the base of his neck and he grinned wider, thoroughly pleased with Bastien’s embarrassment. But he still wasn’t pulling away. _Nor do I want him to._

“Mmmm yes.” He murmured in Bastien’s now red ear, feeling the pulse point skip as his warm breath washed over the already heated skin. “It is a very unique talent. Not many can do what _I_ do.”

“I’m sure they can’t.” Bastien murmured, almost too low for Dorian to hear. His eyebrows shot up and he laughed. Bastien seemed to realize the undertone of his words and his blush only darkened, pulling away from Dorian to go and close the now ready rift.  Dorian grinned after him, pleased at the lack of eye contact Bastien insisted on maintaining. He’d pat himself on the back, but it was just too easy.

_Damnit Dorian._ Bastien grumbled as he dug through the chest, cursing everything and everyone he could think of. He knew the man was simply trying to tease him, but there was no way Dorian could know the affect it was having. He’d pretty much given up on not spooning the man every night they shared a tent, something he had to admit to himself was an excellent improvement to his sleep, and Dorian had taken to it like a second nature, for which Bastien was slightly confused but was not about to contest. More so because Dorian seemed to be sleeping a bit longer, giving Bastien time to dislodge himself and cover a certain morning issue before Dorian woke up. He hadn’t had much of a problem with it in the past, but with Dorian around, it was insistent and refused to part for much longer periods.

He was officially interested in Dorian, on many levels. He wanted to spend all of his waking and sleeping hours with the man, he’d begun to have vivid dreams that made him blush deep red upon waking and on more than one occasion he’d been forced to leave the tent to keep himself from doing something foolish to the still sleeping man. This was completely new territory and he had no idea how to handle it. He’d been buying Dorian gifts, mostly rare tomes from Tevinter and cheese, and taking him with him every time he left Skyhold, but he had no idea what little thing he could do to show Dorian he was interested in more than just teasing. 

He thought back to the letter, stashed away in his pocket. Mother Giselle had given it to him just before they’d left for Crestwood, but he hadn’t found the opportunity to speak with Dorian privately about it. He knew Dorian and his father had some deep running issues, and Dorian deserved to know what was waiting for him at their next stop in Redcliff. But how should he bring it up? Should he just give him the letter and hope for the best? Should he heed the Mother’s advice and simply let him walk into it? _No. That is out of the question._ He wouldn’t let Dorian get blindsided like that. _But what if he leaves you?_ Bastien started at his own thought. Would Dorian leave him? Would he turn and run, never to be seen again if he knew? Suddenly, Bastien realized just how much Dorian meant to him, the thought of losing him clenched his heart in a vice.

“UGH!” Sera shouted suddenly, her voice cracking through the silence and his thoughts like a whip. “I’ve had enough of caves! I need a sky, a city and an ale.”

Bastien snorted, “You and me both Sera.”

_And we can accomplish that at Redcliff._ He sighed. There was no avoiding it.

The moment they were out into the sky, they came face to face with yet another fade rift, their exuberance cut short by a screeching Arcane Horror.  Sera expressed her displeasure rather eloquently and with several new curses and expressions Bastien never heard of, but agreed with none the less. The beast fell quickly and the rift snapped shut.

Bastien stood stone still, staring where the rift used to be, before his eyes flicked up to the sky. The sun shone brightly, faint remnants of the torrent earlier trailed on the wind, carried from over soaked trees. The sun kissed his face reverently as gentle breezes carried the soft scents of nearby flowers to his nose and smile to his lips. Bastien’s shield and sword fell useless from his hands and he collapsed to the blessed earth, falling onto his back in a sprawl.

Dorian’s eyes shot wide. He hadn’t seen Bastien hurt, but what if he missed it? He rushed forward, his brown drawn in concern, a spell at his fingertips, merely to sigh and release the spell upon seeing the stupid, dazzling grin on Bastien’s face. His previously pale cheeks were lush with color, closed eyes twitching as tiny droplets of water fell from the sky and trickled over his cheeks, following the hollows carved into his face from the broad smile that only seemed to grow the longer he lay there. It was the most magnificent smile Dorian had ever seen, the raw joy plastered across his features, entire and pure, simply from being outside in the sun. It was damnably charming.

“Is that entirely necessary?” He huffed, his own grin spreading at the site, as he nudged Bastien’s side with the toe of his boot.

“Yes.” He replied breathily, “It absolutely is.”

It was childish and silly, and Dorian couldn’t fault him for it in the least. Everything in him wanted to fall down beside him and roll around in the grass, to share in this raw joy simply radiating off his frame, to let his frozen heart bask in the warmth radiating from him, to soak in the brilliant light of his smile. But he stood firm, contented himself to smile for a few moments, before peeling Bastien off the grass, lest he do something stupid. Fun, but stupid _._

_He isn’t interested. Let it be._

But he didn’t want to. He wanted to pursue Bastien, to pin him against that precious grass and kiss that beautiful smile until he couldn’t see clearly. To bury his face in the crook of his neck, to tuck himself against the broad expanse of his chest, to drag him off to his tent and do _many_ wonderful things to him. He sighed as Bastien smiled at him, nearly catching himself as he followed the man’s gait with a surprising amount of longing. He covered it quickly, but a look from Cassandra showed he had not acted quickly enough. If he was lucky, this would be the end of it. She would see his restraint and she would respect him for it. The alternative was much sharper. _Likely accuse me of corrupting her precious inquisitor, of turning his sweet and pure mind to debauchery._

_Actually, that would be magnificent, so long as that debauchery was aimed my way._


	30. Like Father, Like Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its THAT time for the gang as they venture into Redcliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments have motivated me with praise. It works. Here's a chapter a few days earlier than planned!

Redcliff seemed downright deserted now that the mages were a firm part of the Inquisition and life seemed back to normal. A mother yelling at her son, a man looking for a goat and its wisdom, a crazy woman ranting about a spirit in a lake, yep, downright normal. Bastien had led them all there, intent on cashing in on the ‘drinks and city’ part of Sera’s suggestion. He let her and Cassandra run off, pulling Dorian aside as they raced off to the nearest sweets shop. 

He wrung his hands together as Dorian stared at him in their secluded corner, a small smile tugging at his lips. He tried to keep himself calm, to keep his own smile in place but it faltered. He knew Dorian would leave, he’d convinced himself of it. He wasn’t quite ready to part just yet, and it sat like a lead weight in his chest.

“Well?” Dorian prompted with a small smile, perplexed with Bastien’s behavior. He’d been in a funk since the caves, and Dorian hoped it wasn’t something he’d done, that he hadn't pressed too far with the teasing. He was a bit startled at how much staying on Bastien’s good side meant to him. So he deflected the sudden anxiety with humor, “Drag me here to have your way with me? Finally caving in from all of my teasing?”

Bastien knew he had to tell him. He couldn’t let him walk in blind, it wasn’t fair. Despite whatever Bastien wanted, Dorian deserved a warning. How he handled it was up to him and if that meant he would leave then…well, he’d deal with it. He reached into his coat and pulled out the letter, pressing it into Dorian’s hand. He managed to make eye contact for a few moments of bewilderment before Dorian’s gaze flicked to the letter. He saw the concern and confusion turn to anger as Dorian's eyes rapidly flicked back and forth, pouring over the contents. Bastien saw the rage, but the hurt in his eyes was what did him in.

“I know my son!? What my father knows of me could barely fill a thimble!” He growled, crushing the letter in his fist. “This is so typical!”

“I’m sorry, Dorian. I should have told you sooner.” He murmured, unable to look at Dorian. He was so ashamed of himself, how dare he interfere with this man’s life. Bastien had kept this terrible secret from him, which wasn’t even his to keep, all for the possibility that Dorian _might_ be interested in men and _might_ be interested in him; he had no proof of anything.

“Yes!” Dorian shouted, snapping at Bastien who winced, gesturing wildly with his hand, “You should have!”

Dorian began to pace and Bastien turned his head, pressing a hand through his hair and balling it into his fist. He should have said something sooner. Given Dorian more of a chance to run, to let him fly if he needed, or face it with more preparation. Now he was going in as good as blind and it was all Bastien’s fault. _You say you care for him, yet see how you treat him. You don’t deserve him, even if he cared for you._ But that was impossible. Bastien sighed, his face defeated as a frown tugged his mouth down.

Dorian halted, his gaze locked on Bastien’s guilty face. He wanted to rave, he wanted to shout, but the look on this sweet man’s face made him feel like he was kicking a puppy. He sighed, his shoulders hunching. While the information was grossly belated, Bastien had done him a kindness. In all actuality, Bastien could have kept the secret to the end. He could have let Dorian walk into that tavern completely blind. Even a small heads up was better than nothing. What surprised him the most was how betrayed he felt. Bastien owed him nothing, but Dorian had this foolish notion he would be completely forthright. The icy chill that spread in his veins caught him off guard, perhaps Bastien had somehow weaseled his way into Dorian’s heart after all. _Unrequited affection? How could you let this happen, Pavus? How wretched you are._  He stepped back in front of Bastien and touched a finger beneath his chin to turn his gaze to meet his own. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He said softly, not attempting to hide the hurt in his voice. Bastien’s eyes were red when they met his and Dorian felt his guilt like a punch in the chest. He sighed inwardly, suddenly realizing how much the Inquisitor had come to mean to him.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, not pulling his face free. “I wanted to but I just….” He sighed, pulling his head away to look at some distant point on the ground, his cheeks beginning to darken. “I was afraid you would leave.”

Dorian blinked. He kept this secret, had nearly figuratively fed him to the wolves without warning, all because he was afraid of Dorian leaving? Part of him wanted to slap the man, call him selfish and childish for thinking Dorian would leave after he swore to aid the Inquisition. The other part of him felt valued, how long had Bastien been warring with whether or not to tell him for fear of Dorian leaving? He’d waited until the last moment, drawing out their time together as long as possible before dropping the bomb, giving Dorian one last chance to flee if he wished. Dorian sighed, and smiled.

_Perhaps not so unrequited after all?_

“What a foolish thing to say.” Bastien’s eyes flicked back to his as Dorian spoke and he smiled compulsively at the blatant hope in them, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bastien’s smile shone like the sun, his joy was nearly palpable. _He either sees me as an excellent friend or something far more._ Dorian would very much like to know which.

“Come, let’s not keep the lackeys waiting.” Dorian couldn’t help but feel a bit reassured, he was about to turn away yet another of his father’s lackeys to return the long trek back to Tevinter with absolutely nothing to show for it and through it all, Bastien would be at his side. _But for how much longer, I wonder? Perhaps I should be the one concerned about leaving._ His thought made him flinch. Sure Bastien seemed to care for him, but if it was not romantically, what would he do when he found out Dorian’s little secret? _Too late now._

But the door swung wide to an empty, silent tavern. They waited a moment, but there was no sound. He glanced back to Bastien who shrugged before his gaze wandered to the back of the tavern.

“This does not bode well.” He was certain today was within the range of days listed for the lackeys to be staying there. Perhaps they had packed up and left, realized there was nothing they could say that would bring him back?

“Dorian.”

He turned and faced the stairs where that familiar voice echoed, that voice he’d longed to hear once more sing the praises rained on him in his youth, but never again. “Father.” It should have been a sad realization, had he not come to terms with it many years ago. “So, the whole story about the family retainer, just a smoke screen?”

The magister seemed a bit surprised, then exasperated.

“Then you were told.” Dorian tried not to growl at his father’s tone, even before he turned his manipulative, lying eyes on Bastien. “I am sorry for the inconvenience and deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for _you_ to be involved.”

“Of course not! Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen with the _Dread Inquisitor,_ what would people think?” Dorian snapped, stepping a bit in front of Bastien, his tone dropped to a dangerous rumble as he growled at his father, his mild irritation slowly starting to boil, “What is this exactly father? Ambush? Kidnapping? _Warm family reunion?”_

Magister Pavus sighed, turning his gaze back to Bastien as he deflected Dorian’s anger. “This is how it has always been.”

Dorian was about to tear into his father, about to snap and rave at the man, but Bastien beat him to it. “I am not the one you should be addressing, and the _last_ one whom you should be venting to! If you have truly come to talk with him then for the Makers sake, talk to _him_!”

“Yes father, talk to me. Let us hear how mystified you are by my anger.” Dorian snapped, renewed by Bastien’s defensive words. The magister seemed a bit taken aback, a sight Dorian relished.

“Dorian, there is no need to—“

 _Oh but there is, father._ Dorian whirled to Bastien and grinned, cruel and sardonic, as he spoke. “I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves.” _And now we wait for him to run from me._

Bastien blinked. _Dorian was…_ Now was not the time for his heart to skip, for his hope to flare, but it did regardless. His eyes flicked over to the Magister and calmed quickly, his brow drawing tight. Was it wrong? Were same sex couples seen as vile and disturbing in Tevinter? He’d seen several men of that persuasion in the Marches who’d gone on to live long, happy, love filled lives. What father wouldn’t want that for his son?

“That’s… a big issue in Tevinter then?” His eyes flicked back to Dorian, to the barely contained rage and the slightest modicum of surprise. He wanted to reach out, to wrap his arms around Dorian and tell him everything was going to be alright, but he restrained himself.

“It is when you are trying to live up to an impossible standard.” He growled, despite the glint of possibility desperately struggling to break through. _He didn’t run._ “Every mage in Tevinter is interbreeding to create the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind: the perfect leader. It means every perceived flaw, ever aberration, is deemed deviant and shameful, and must be _hidden._ ”

Bastien scoffed and glowered at the Magister a moment, who at least had the decency to look contrite, before looking back to Dorian. “So that’s what this is all about? Who you sleep with?”

Dorian’s smile was cruel once more, “That’s not all it’s about.”

“Dorian, please. If you’d only listen to me-“ The magister was cut short by Dorian’s rage as it burst from its confinements.

“ _Why?_ So you can spout more convenient lies?” He whirled on his father, “He taught me to _hate_ blood magic: ‘The resort of a weak mind.’ Those were _his_ words! But what was the first thing he tried to do when his heir refused to play pretend for the _rest of his life_?”  Dorian’s voice broke, “He tried to…change me.”

“I only wanted what was best for _you_.” His father began.

“No! You wanted what was best for you. For you and your _FUCKING_ legacy, anything for _that_.” He snapped, biting past the tears that had begun to sting his eyes. He huffed out the air burning his lungs and walked towards the bar, bracing himself against it as he ground his teeth.

Bastien felt lost in a torrent. He looked at the wounded magister, Dorian’s words had cut deep and he deserved every last ounce of that pain. But his eyes were remorseful, an unspoken apology, obstructed by pride and shame, not Dorian’s, but his own. He moved towards where Dorian stood, shaking and trying to catch his breath. He stood silently beside him for a moment before placing his hand against his back, rubbing the same soothing circles Dorian had once done for him. The man wiped his eyes and turned to face Bastien.

“Don’t leave it like this, Dorian.” He said softly, hoping he wouldn’t make things worse, hoping it was his place to even say such a thing. This was Dorian’s chance, possibly the last chance, to reconcile with his father. Provided his father let go of his pride long enough to admit he was very much in the wrong, and had planned to do a horrible thing to his only son. He should have warned Dorian sooner, he should have done…something to make it easier. Now Dorian was in pain, and it was all Bastien’s fault. It was already terrible, but perhaps it could at least end a bit better. He should have known better. “He’s trying to reach out, in his own way. Try speaking with him, if it doesn’t work, we’ll leave, I promise, just don’t let yourself regret this.”

Dorian stared at him for a moment, his eyes roving all over Bastien’s face. His eyes were pained, but gentle. His posture open and welcoming, assuring Dorian that if he were to wrap is arms around the man right now he would be embraced, not rejected. That if he was to shake his head and walk out the door, he wouldn’t be questioned and Bastien would follow.  A small smile pulled at his lips through his tears and he wiped his face, standing up fully to walk back towards his father.

“Tell me why you came.” The rage had settled a bit, his tone subdued.

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition-“ His father began, shaking his head.

“ _You_ didn’t. I joined the Inquisition because it’s the right thing to do.” Dorian interrupted, shaking his head in turn as he stared into his father’s eyes, “Once, I had a father who would have known that.” He sighed, taking one last long look at the man who had once meant so much to him before turning to leave.

Bastien turned to follow behind him, his head hung low. This accomplished nothing but causing Dorian pain. His siblings were right, he was a terrible leader.

“Once I had a son who trusted me.” Dorian stopped, “A trust I betrayed.” They both turned to face the Magister where he stood frozen at the base of the stairs. “I only wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me.”

Dorian’s brow shot up. The great Magister Pavus was asking for forgiveness from his base and deviant son? Before a witness? How was this possible? He turned to Bastien, who smiled weakly at him before heading towards the door. An entire conversation passed between them in that one glance and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that no matter what happened Bastien would be waiting for him outside that door. With the renewed strength this knowledge brought, he turned to face his father.


	31. Hope

Bastien shifted uncomfortably in the tent, his blankets clenched in his hands. His thoughts spiraled out of control. The cool air barely pricked his exposed skin despite the frost crunching beneath the guard’s boots as she passed with the lantern, bouncing with the warm glow before leaving him in darkness once more. The last few days, Dorian had been understandably silent. But Bastien missed his smile, missed his laugh, missed his voice, missed his conversation, missed waking up with him. He sighed, burying his face into his pillow, wishing it was Dorian’s shoulder. But Dorian had acquired his own tent in Redcliff, wanting space and solitude which, though it drove him mad to do so, Bastien had immediately granted him.

He’d stopped Sera and Cassandra multiple times from prying, their confusion understandable. They’d gone for snacks at a small shop before joining Bastien outside the Gull and Lantern. He had to physically restrain Sera, lifting her off the ground only to drop her the moment Dorian had emerged, his eyes bloodshot and his smile wavering. He hadn’t spoken more than three words since.

Bastien flopped onto his back and let his mind wander. What would his father have done had he known his youngest was interested in men? Honestly, Bastien hadn’t even known until waking up wrapped around Dorian a few times, but theoretically what would his own father have done? He knew for certain there would have been no insane blood magic rituals, but how far would his father have gone? He knew the man would disapprove, he’d expressed that plenty when he realized what the stable boys had begun doing in their spare time. He shook his head, his father would likely openly disown him and Bastien didn’t think he could be as brave as Dorian. To leave everything behind, to run off to a foreign land where nearly everyone hates you, simply so you could continue to be yourself.

Dorian was so incredibly brave, so beautifully confident, so miraculously intelligent… Bastien added these thoughts to the things he loved about the man. He shot upright. _Love?_ He braced a hand on his chest in an attempt to still his suddenly racing heart. Is that was this was? He’d never been in love before, but he was certain it took longer than this…didn’t it? It seemed that as soon as he was sure Dorian was interested in men his heart made the decision for him, regardless of any type of practicality or propriety. Not that Bastien really cared for those things, but it would have been nice if his heart had consulted him at least briefly before deciding to give itself up to Dorian. But perhaps it had happened even sooner than that. He’d cared for the man a while, but could he call it love? But what if Dorian didn’t care for him the same way?

He fell back onto the bed with a groan. He had no idea what he was doing. He couldn’t keep it in his head any longer. He reached into his pack and pulled out his journal and put all his thoughts to paper. All the little things he’d begun to feel, everything he’d felt since the beginning, all the conversations, the smiles, the looks, the way his heart fluttered before slamming hard against his ribs when Dorian laughed, the tingle against his skin when Dorian was nearby or, heaven forbid, touching him in any way. He felt foolish even as he read it himself, unable to make any sense of it whatsoever, despite spending several hours writing it all down, even that didn’t seem like enough.

But what could he do about it? He’d begun leaving little something’s for Dorian in his alcove, a cake or a book or whatever may interest the man, shortly after Felix had passed away. At first he’d done it to cheer him up, but after, the gifts became more pointed, more Dorian specific, and the other man seemed to enjoy it greatly, his little alcove quickly filling with books. Was this how one courted a man? He groaned, letting the book snap shut and his head fall to the pillow. _What am I doing?_

\---

Dorian thumbed the pages, not really reading the tome but comforted by its presence none the less. He’d demanded solitude, which had been readily given, but he felt lonely. To be frank, he’d felt lonely whenever Bastien wasn’t around, a sensation that settled uneasily in his chest. He was becoming dependent, and he couldn’t truly think of anything he could do to stop it. He curled the latest gift against his chest before falling back against the hard floor of his tent, his head thudding onto the pillow with a heavy sigh. After the first restless night he’d processed what his father had said to him, though it still stung to hear. Since then, he’d been barely sleeping, tossing and turning in his cold tent until the sun set the camp to shifting. Then it was back on horses until they reached Skyhold. _One more day._

He couldn’t wait. He wanted to be back in his alcove, to be alone while surrounded by people, to wait for that little visit from Bastien in the morning and afternoon, to see what treat had been left for him far earlier that morning.

He smirked at the memory of a small package and the tiny note written in Bastien’s flowing script: ‘ _I hope you like it’._ He’d been so confused at first, seeing the little box resting on the cushion of his lush chair, even more so after seeing the note. But the small round cheese he’d only been able to find in Tevinter erased any insecurity, replacing it with a desire to find something to smear it on before he deigned to shove it in its entirety into his mouth in the least graceful gesture he was capable of. Well, ungraceful when it was in regards to _food_ , at the very least.

He smiled fully now, rubbing his thumb along the spine of the book. He was a bit embarrassed to admit how dense he’d been to Bastien’s subtle advances, despite how frequent they’d been. No the man had never outright expressed his interest, nor had he ever attempted anything physically, but now that his inner voice was silenced by Bastien’s acceptance, nothing could be clearer. He was being courted. By someone who had no idea what they were doing, and didn’t know that intent needed to be expressed, but courted none the less. He smiled wider, a giddy feeling overtaking him; he’d never been courted before.

_At least not by someone I was interested in being courted by._

How foolish he was not to see it sooner. If he had, all anxiety about Bastien finding out this secret would have vanished. If anything, he’d seen hope in the man’s eyes, that same hope Dorian had squashed from himself several times, the moment the secret was revealed. Now that the more intense portion of the conversation had passed, it couldn’t be more obvious. At first he’d attributed it to shock, perhaps disgust, maybe even a bit of fear, but now he realized he had been looking for those emotions, looking for that rejection he’d been so sure he would receive. He sighed and rolled on his side. But would he be willing to take that risk? To let himself hope for more? To give himself that chance to smile that brightly and roll in the grass with that abandon? With an airy sigh that carried a surprising amount of weight, he made his decision, he would make that first advance towards Bastien and if the man turned into a sputtering, uncomfortable fool, Dorian would back off and never do it again.

He hoped, despite his better judgment, he would be able to do it again.

\---

Dorian shifted before the window of his alcove, waiting for Bastien to arrive. He’d sent a message, stating he wished to speak to him. That was partially true, there was going to be some speaking though that was not his full intention. But with just too much time on its hands, his mind began to wander back to the whole display at Redcliff. He’d acted out, shown his heart and threw his barbs at everyone. He knew he’d hit Bastien with more than a few. _Too much pride is right._ He heard soft footsteps behind him.

“He says we are alike, my father and I, too much pride.” Dorian murmured, his eyes not moving from their spot on the horizon. “Once I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now…I’m not so certain. I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

 _This wasn’t what I wanted to speak of at all._ But apparently, Dorian’s mind wanted to divulge all of this to Bastien, to feel comforted, reaffirmed. To expose his heart to someone he hoped would not bash it against the wall. It was not a feeling he was familiar with and he didn’t truly know how to handle himself, he felt estranged.

“Are you alright?” Bastien’s voice was gentle, moving closer. He felt a brush of a hand against his shoulder and smiled. His trust was well placed it seemed.

“I will be, in time. This is a start at least.” He turned to face him, a sad smile on his lips. Now was the moment of truth, to see how Bastien felt, to see if his hopes or his fears were founded in any truth. Charging into the unknown was something he was familiar with, so why did this have him so worried? “Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”

Bastien smiled back, his eyes soft and warm and inviting. Dorian felt himself lean forward, his chilled and neglected heart desperate for that warmth his eyes offered. “More if possible, I think you’re incredibly brave.”

Dorian started, of all the things he was expecting to hear, that was not one of them. His voice betrayed him when he spoke, wavering slightly, “Brave?”

“It isn’t easy to abandon tradition, to leave everything and everyone you know behind and walk your own path.” Bastien’s hand fell away, his voice gentle, his eyes locked on Dorian’s as color began to bloom against his cheeks, “So yes, I think you are incredibly brave.”

“The things you say…” Dorian’s heart pounded. The sudden bloom of the possibility, the hope to have something more with this incredibly sweet man refused to be stamped out, no matter how hard his subconscious was trying. “My father never understood. Living a lie…it festers inside of you, like poison. You have to fight for what’s in your heart.”

And right now, everything in him was fighting towards one thing, one very close thing that was entirely within his reach, if Bastien’s expression was anything to go by. He took a step closer and Bastien held his ground even as Dorian’s hand traced up his arm.

“I agree.” Bastien murmured, his heart slamming in his ears with Dorian so close, looking at him like that, gaze constantly fixed on his own even as he was led further into the alcove. He was drowning in silver. _Can I kiss you?_ His feet followed of their own will, Bastien physically unable to look away from Dorian’s perfect grey eyes, even as they grew closer, his lips unable to form the words he so desperately wanted to say.

**_Please let me kiss you._**

Safely tucked away inside the alcove, away from prying eyes that may see the possible rejection, eyes that may accuse the Inquisitor of being corrupted or Dorian for corrupting, Dorian gently pressed his lips to Bastien’s. He felt the man jerk at the contact, prepared to pull away and brace himself for the rejection, but the soft lips began to press firmer against Dorian, the sudden intensity making him step back until he was pinned against the wall, Bastien refusing to allow any distance between them. Strong arms circled around him, one cradling his neck, the other around his waist, dragging him close against the strong frame. Dorian cursed internally even as he sank into the kiss, he hadn’t braced for such intensity and it tore through his weak defenses and set him on fire. He had fully expected a kiss from Bastien to be this sweet chaste thing the man would run away blushing from after, not this powerful flood of passion that left his own legs shaking.

Bastien saw stars. His entire world centered on this moment, this tentative and uncharacteristically shy press of Dorian’s lips to his, and the subsequent fire it ignited within him, a poor and starving ember erupting to an inferno with the slightest encouragement. Its heat flooded his veins, clouded his vision until all he could see was Dorian, all he could feel was Dorian’s touch against his back, pulling him closer, of the fingers in his hair, tugging gently and sending little sparks down his spine. He wanted to be gentle, he wanted to cherish, but the fire stoked by Dorian’s lips and by the demanding caress of his hands pushed him further over the edge, pushed him harsher against Dorian. Before he knew it, his tongue was invading Dorian’s mouth.

The books were harsh against his back, larger tomes digging into his spine as Bastien pressed harder against him, consuming him. He knew it would be prudent to push him away, to end this display or at least move it elsewhere before someone strode past and decided to observe the Tevinter corrupting the Inquisitor. But all thought ended when Bastien’s tongue brushed against his lower lip, he granted access to his own without a second’s hesitation. Aggressive strokes stole Dorian’s breath, a moan escaping his lips as Bastien’s teeth grazed his bottom lip and his legs buckled, his body pliant and willing in Bastien’s strong arms.

Bastien froze at the sound and blinked, the realization of what he was doing slamming into him. He’d never kissed a man before, honestly he’d never even kissed a woman like _this_ before. Yet he’d pinned Dorian to a bookshelf and forced himself quite literally into his mouth. He pulled away from the kiss and braced his head on Dorian’s shoulder, his breaths short and ragged, heart hammering in his ears. He took a half step back and a flushed Dorian, his lips plump from the onslaught, stared back at him, eyes dilated and clouded. Bastien swallowed hard, he wanted to court the man not pounce on him. Or did he? He slowly and reluctantly released Dorian, giving him a moment to brace himself against the books before releasing him completely. He rubbed his palms against his cheeks before covering his mouth and turning, racing out of the alcove and down the stairs.

Dorian stared after him, braced against the bookshelf, his heart hammering, his legs refusing to follow, still weak from the sudden onslaught. It was as if someone had just swept the rug out from under him, casting him into a free-fall. He took a shaky step forward and fell into the chair, bracing his lips against his palm. His body felt cold, pulled so abruptly away from such passionate fire. He was more than willing to let it consume him. He knew it was foolish, the sharp little voice of experience in the back of his head kept reminding him, but a much louder voice insisted that it was worth it. That he should let himself be devoured by the flames, to get lost in the embrace, to risk his heart, even if he should be burned alive. Because Bastien, well, Bastien could be worth it.

\---

Bastien slammed the door behind him, falling hard against the solid wood frame as he was isolated from the world in his tower, hand still pressed firmly to his mouth. His entire body was burning red, embarrassed and flustered in so many ways. The flurry of sensation coursing through him was completely new, terrifying but not at all unpleasant. The desire to pin Dorian to more than a bookshelf, to explore one another from the setting to the rising of the sun with hands and mouth, was equal levels embarrassing and confusing. He’d never had such a desire before, and he had no idea how to act on them, or even to see if Dorian was interested in such a thing.

 He rubbed his hands over his face repeatedly as he made his way up the stairs and out onto the balcony, determined for some icy air to calm him down and clear his mind. How had that even happened? One minute he walks in concerned about Dorian’s well-being after that dreadful encounter with his father, and the next he was pinning him to the bookshelf and shoving his tongue in his mouth.

He blushed harder and groaned, dropping his head in his hands. He’d made such a fool of himself. 


	32. Too Busy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, communication is important guys.

Dorian sighed, his fingers twirling his mustache. He’d checked the war room, the garden, the tavern – where Bull made a rather raunchy proposition – and made a pass around the ramparts. He couldn’t find Bastien anywhere. It had been three days since the kiss. Dorian had simply attributed the avoidance during the afternoon and evening to the man’s naturally shy state, but when he went to see him that night, he wasn’t in his chambers despite the late hour and his journal was missing. _Or he could have hidden it from you._

The thought only made him want to find it more. If he hadn’t hidden it before, what new and pivotal information might he have written down? Dorian had to have it. He’d spent the better part of the night searching for it before falling back onto Bastien’s bed and falling asleep, wrapped tightly in blankets smelling of oakmoss and horses. He was still missing when Dorian awoke. That was two days ago. He’d seen nothing of the man since. Well, there was a brief glance of him rushing past with Cullen, drenched in sweat, on his way to the baths. But that was well before Dorian was ready to get out of his tent completely. Had he known that would be the only chance to speak, he would have gone to see him.

The current of Skyhold was positively roiling. As Dorian stood in the courtyard, staring up at Bastien's tower in thought, at least fifty people rushed past him carrying various items to different destinations. He hadn’t been privy to what exactly was happening, so he was simply left to wonder. Not that it mattered, he likely wouldn’t be involved anyway, but it definitely involved Bastien and was taking up a grand amount of the man’s time. He sneered, that was probably why he hadn’t seen him in so long. The man was being drained of all his time and energy catering to the needs of Skyhold and her inhabitants. Their conversation could wait until the man had a moment to breathe, though he had to admit he missed the little visits. _Look at you, being an optimist. Perhaps he regrets?_

He shook his head and stormed up the crooked flight of stairs to the main keep, dodging soldiers and refugees alike. He skirted the wall, staying out of the way of three soldiers carrying a massive sculpture of a raven towards the war room. _Ah, so he went with the Free Marches design, how delightfully stubborn._

He ducked into the rotunda, giving up his search for the sanctity of his alcove. His conversation would have to wait. Dorian had begun piecing together a little speech for Bastien, letting him know it was alright if he never wanted anything more from Dorian, when his thoughts were cut off. The adorable sight before him made him cover his mouth, lest he make one of those strange, girlish noises. Seated in his chair, _well, perhaps draped was a better term,_ was Bastien. His head hung, cheek resting against his shoulder, moving with the soft rise and fall of his breaths. One hand draped over the arm of the chair, fingers smudged black, a piece of charcoal resting on the carpet beneath it.

Dorian smiled, muffling his steps as he approached, lifting the book about to fall from Bastien’s hand, worried the sound might startle him awake. He had to be exhausted to fall asleep in such a way. _Despite everything, he managed to come and see me._ The thought skittered though his mind, making his heart skip and the air rush from his lungs in a decidedly dreamy sigh. He grinned, chastising himself even as he cracked open the book. And stared at yet another portrait of himself. This one was incomplete, but the features drawn so far were softer than the previous.

Bastien stirred, murmuring in his sleep before his eyes fluttered open. He saw Dorian’s feet and he smiled, tracing the lines of his armor up and across his chest before settling on his face. He saw the book open in Dorian’s hand and sighed, shifting to sit up. He’d honestly given up keeping Dorian away from them, though his journal was safely strapped to his back beneath his shirt. That was the only way he could guarantee Dorian would not find it. Dorian’s gaze flicked to him and he smiled wider. Maker he’d missed him so much. He stood slowly, gently taking the book out of his hand. He’d come up here with a purpose, and he couldn’t let that beautiful gaze distract him from it. As much as he hated it, he didn’t have time to stare at Dorian all day.

“Come with me, I have something I want to show you.” He reached down and took Dorian gently by the hand, silently hoping Dorian didn’t mind, pulling him along as they passed to the opposite side of the library. Little sparks raced up his arm from the contact of the decidedly velvet skinned palm resting gently in his own.

“Where are we going?” Dorian pressed, though he thoroughly enjoyed the contact of Bastien’s calloused hand sliding gently into his, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. He was a bit surprised at himself, how many times had he been hurt and betrayed just for Bastien to show up and sweep the rug out from underneath him? He would follow this man anywhere and the realization left him uneasy.  He thought he’d learned this lesson already. But as Bastien guided him through the main hall, hand still firmly grasping his, past the startled gasps and stares of all the nobles, guards, and servants busying themselves in the hall, he felt like this was something entirely different.

But Bastien only laughed, “You’ll see.”

Dorian didn’t want to see, he wanted Bastien to kiss him like he had three days ago. To kiss him until he couldn’t walk, couldn’t see straight, couldn’t form a coherent thought. The only thing stopping him from pouncing on the man himself was the distinct lack of privacy and his lack of assurance to how public Bastien wanted this, or what this even was.

He’d always been the dirty little secret, cast aside when someone came too close to discovering the answer. But here he was, not even in any sort of relationship with this man, nothing aside from that wonderful kiss, being paraded about, hand in hand, in the most crowded area of Skyhold. They’d traveled across the upper balcony of the main hall, and out over the garden. They approached three doors and Bastien led him all the way to the end of the walkway before he turned back towards Dorian, a large and charming grin plastered to his face.

“Close your eyes.”

Dorian smirked, “Moving a little fast, aren’t we?”

The color sprang to Bastien's cheeks, his smile faltering, “That’s not… I mean… I …”

Dorian smirked and closed his eyes. He heard Bastien’s sigh as warm hands braced against his shoulders to guide him forward. The door swung open nearly silently, a warm rush of air kissing against his skin carrying the soft fragrance of what could only be embrium to his nose. He smiled despite himself at his favorite scent, hearing the door close behind him.

“Alright, open them.” He heard the excitement in Bastien’s voice and he smiled, opening his eyes slowly only to start at the sight that lay before him. 

He stood in a bedroom, lavishly furnished in the style of Tevinter from the wall draping to the bedspreads, from the scents emanating from the fireplace to the rack of spices on the mantle. He walked forward slowly, taking in every last detail. He ran his hands along the cool stone wall, trailing onto the mantle and over the spices, stopping a moment by a window that gazed out onto the mountains beyond through stained glass. He turned back around and glanced at the large bed, a thick comforter draped over the mass of it, more than adequate to keep out the winter chill.

“So?” Bastien murmured and Dorian’s eyes flicked back up to him. He stood quietly in the corner, wringing his hands. “Oh, there’s this too.” He jumped suddenly and shifted, taking a few quick steps forward before stopping again, unsure. It was a strange and timid posture, made all the more endearing with his taller broad stature. He gestured to a small desk tucked near the door and Dorian approached it.

 He ran his fingers over the varnished desk, lifting the tome placed in the center. _Where on earth did he find this?_ He hadn’t seen this tome in years, not since his days under Alexius, and he not only wondered how on earth Bastien had managed to obtain it, but how he knew it even existed. _Perhaps he went and spoke with Alexius himself? No..._  He set it gently back in its place at the center of the desk and turned, biting back tears. This was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for him. The tome alone would have sufficed, but now he had a room entirely of his own and so much like home.

 _He doesn’t want you in his sight anymore, the room is to get you out of the way, the book is to keep you distracted_.

Like clockwork, his subconscious doused the warmth blossoming beneath his ribs with icy water as the realization hit him full force. _The man isn’t being sweet, he is just trying to get you out of his bed and away from him._ Bastien had gone through all this effort to try and keep him out of his room and out of his path.

“It is perfect.” Dorian sighed. He had planned the speech out, the way to tell Bastien it is alright if he’s not interested, it wasn’t as if anything had truly happened. _Don’t lie to yourself, Pavus, you haven’t stopped thinking about him._

Bastien’s smile fell and he moved closer, stopping less than a foot away. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I am simply surprised.” Dorian smiled, but he knew it was weak. He’d told himself everything would be fine if Bastien wasn’t interested, he would give him a way out and that would be the end of it. He’d done it before, he could do it again. _Then why does it feel like there is a dagger in my chest?_

_Because you let yourself hope._

“I’m not trying to…I mean you can always…with me...I…um...” Bastien blushed, taking a half step back and rubbing the back of his neck, “What I mean to say is that…You don’t have to…This is just…I just thought…”

Bastien sighed sharply. Why couldn’t he speak? Not that this wasn’t embarrassing, but he’d practiced it the entire time he was helping renovate this room. He would tell Dorian that this was his own private space, his own sanctuary, but that he was more than welcome to share his bed whenever he felt like it. Maker, even thinking about the words made him blush harder. He missed Dorian, he wanted to be around him constantly, he wanted him to stay in his bed every night, to wake up with him without feeling the need to blush and run away. He wished he was eloquent. Dorian’s eyes went wide for a moment and then he smiled so gently that Bastien felt his bones melt.

“Are you trying to invite me to your bedroom?” Dorian grinned, his anxiety having melted away watching Bastien blush and stumble over his words.

 Of course this statement only made him blush harder, attempting to retreat by taking a step back, but Dorian followed, gripping the front of his shirt. He pulled him forward and, in a breath of hope, pressed his lips to Bastien’s. He felt lips curl into a smile against his, arms wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, nearly lifting him off the ground. He relaxed and contented himself to melt against Bastien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments and Kudos!! Its like a shot of adrenaline every time!!!


	33. Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why can't I ever leave things nice?

Bastien couldn’t help but smile when Dorian kissed him again. He’d worried Dorian got the wrong impression when he was missing, but he’d only been working on renovating this room. Well, in addition to all the war planning and training and everything else he had to do as Inquisitor. He had to show Dorian how he felt. He needed to tell him. _Now, while there is still some courage..._  Gently and reluctantly, he pulled Dorian off, easing him back to the ground as he smiled.

He still felt the heat of his blush, he still felt the desire to run and hide until his heart settled down, but maybe it would always be like this when he kissed Dorian. Maybe his heart would always skip, maybe he would always feel like he could run a hundred laps around Skyhold and take on a high dragon, maybe he would always be breathless. Maybe this was just what it was like when you were in love. But should he tell Dorian _that_ much? Would it be _too_ much? He removed Dorian’s hands from his neck and held them firmly in his. _Let’s start at the beginning…_

“Dorian… I—“

The door swung open, cutting Bastien off mid sentence and Hawke strode into the room. Bastien, startled at the sudden intrusion, dropped Dorian’s hands immediately and turned around. Hawke glanced around and whistled, eyes settling on the two before nodding to Dorian and pointing at Bastien.

“Can I steal him?”

Dorian blinked, and wanted to set Hawke on fire with every ounce of his being. He crossed his arms and glared at the man, wishing flames would suddenly start up on the hem of his robes. Bastien was about to say something Dorian was fairly certain was a confession. One he _very much_ wanted to hear. He could not _wait_ until Hawke was gone. He glanced at Bastien, who’d dropped his hands rather quickly when they were no longer alone, and sighed. _Perhaps I am just a spoiled dirty little secret._ He waved his hand to Bastien, dismissing him as he turned, lifting the book from the desk to hide the blow to his pride. _It was your own fault, Pavus._

Bastien wanted to stay, but a look from Hawke said it was important, and he’d already spent far too long roaming around with Dorian, he had so many other things to do. He looked back over towards Dorian, who’d already fallen into the chair and cracked open the book.

“I’ll come see you as soon as I can.” Bastien waited a moment for a reply, but only received another wave of the hand. He turned and followed Hawke out of the room, making directly for the war room.

Dorian ground his teeth. Bastien _was_ ashamed of him. But why had he paraded him around in the main hall like that, only to disentangle himself and flee the moment they were interrupted? He shook his head. _You hoped for more._ But why shouldn’t he? The man’s signals were immensely confusing. Was he doomed to a life of brief trysts and sordid affairs? _You should know better by now._ If he never risked is heart, he would never be hurt. However, he would also never be truly loved.

And what was so wrong with wanting what everyone else had? He wanted to hold his lovers hand and walk about in public, to kiss them whenever he felt like it and let everyone see his affection. To walk along the docks of Minrathos, hand in hand with the man he loved. He’d thought he could have that with Bastien. The sharp realization that he wouldn’t stung far worse than he’d been prepared for.

A few hours later and a gentle knock sounded at his door. One he was not keen on answering. The knock sounded again and Bastien called him through the door. Still, Dorian remained silent. Let the man think he was asleep; he’d been hurt enough for one evening and was in no mood to talk. After a final attempt, much softer, he heard footsteps fading away. He sighed, his heart wrenching as he snapped the book shut. He peeled off his clothes and slipped into the bed, covering himself completely beneath the thick comforter. The sheets were incredibly soft, the blankets heavy and warm, and despite the twisting ache in his chest, he fell asleep quickly.

-

When he woke, he learned that the Inquisitor had left. Evidently, he tried to inform Dorian of the mission, but he hadn’t answered. He cursed internally and stormed off to the war room to demand an answer, but no one was there. In fact, several members of the Inquisition were nowhere to be found. He finally made contact with Leliana in her rookery.

“They left for the Western Approach this morning, did the Inquisitor not tell you?” Leliana tilted her head, her soft voice lilting in the too quiet rotunda.

“No, I went to bed early last night.” Leliana nodded, and Dorian saw the weight of that nod. No doubt she already knew that. He also wouldn’t be surprised to find she also knew he was lying. “Do you know when they will return?”

“I am not certain, it depends entirely on what this ‘ritual’ is. Hawke and Stroud were unsure, but we do know the Grey Wardens are involved.” This was the most information Dorian had obtained in one sitting from any of the inner circle, typically they didn’t tell him anything for fear he was a Venatori spy or some other such nonsense. Leliana lifted a report from her desk and sighed, “My scouts have reported several rather troubling discoveries about the area, and I do worry for our dear Bastien. But I must remember he is a capable man, with or without his mage.”

Dorian stared at her, eyes narrowed. _His mage?_ “What exactly does that mean?”

“Oh, he has not told you? Then forget I have spoken.” She waved a hand dismissively and turned back to her papers, ignoring Dorian entirely.

“Told me what, exactly?” Dorian demanded, placing a hand on Leliana’s papers. The woman leveled a look at him and he removed it. Intent as he was for the information, he had no desire to cross the spymaster. 

“It is my job to protect secrets, I have already said too much. Though, I suggest you ask him upon his return.” She smirked and sat, missive in hand, lost to Dorian.

He turned on his heel and left, his mind swirling. _His mage? What does he need to tell me?_ He made his way quickly to his alcove, pacing back and forth, trying to piece everything together _without_ getting his hopes up. But a thought kept nagging at his mind. _You let your pride get in the way, and now he is out there without you to protect him._ The anxiety bloomed in his chest, radiating electricity in his veins.

“Oh, hello Lord Pavus,” A soft voice greeted and he turned, coming face to face with a petite elven woman. “I am sorry to be so late; this was supposed to be breakfast. The kitchens were all in a fuss this morning trying to make sure the Inquisitor was well fed before his trip. Honestly, he is so polite. I’ve never seen someone eat so much just to make the staff happy.”

She laughed, a soft lilting thing that helped settle Dorian’s nerves a bit. In her hands was a small covered tray which she set on a small table in his alcove. Lifting the lid, the aroma of freshly baked sweet cakes filled his nostrils. The tray also contained a bit of his favorite cheese and a small cluster of grapes.

“The Lord Inquisitor asked me to bring you this when you woke, and anything else you may need.” She bowed slightly, “Do you require anything else, my lord?”

Dorian stared at her blankly for a moment before clearing his throat. “No, thank you.”

She bowed once more and left him more confused than ever. He lifted the plate to examine the strange cakes within and found a small note beneath. He set the plate aside, lifting one of the warm cakes to his mouth as he read.

_Dorian,_

_I am sorry you won’t be with me in the Western Approach. I know that sounds silly, considering its history, but I’ve been told it’s scorching hot so I thought you would at least somewhat like it. Then again, it’s also covered in sand, constantly windy and full of rather aggressive beasts, or so I am told. So, perhaps you would have hated it._

_I feel like I need to apologize, though I must admit I am not entirely sure what for. Perhaps when I return you can enlighten me, but for now I will simply say I am sorry and I wish that you were with me. It’s strange, but I feel this dismal sounding place wouldn’t sound so bad if I knew you would be there with me.  Also, Sylvie swears you will love the sweet-cakes, I hope she is right. If not, there should be cheese too. I know you at least will like that._

_Until I see you again, Bastien_

Dorian sighed and folded the note, slipping it into his pocket. He’d been foolish, he’d been prideful, he’d been hurt and reacted like a child would, by locking himself in his room and giving everyone the silent treatment. He wanted to kick himself. But was it so wrong not to want to be a shameful secret anymore? He’d thought something could have happened between the two, something more than just the physical. _You let yourself hope, and now you’ve learned. He would have been so good to you, and you threw it back in his face._

_But perhaps it is not too late…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments and Kudos! You are all so wonderful and it means so much to me!!   
> (AKA I squeal when I see kudos/comments/bookmarks and bounce around. My SO gets worried... its awkward...)


	34. The Western Approach

Bastien yawned, peeling the already oppressive blankets back to expose his skin to the still slightly crisp morning air. He sighed and stepped out into the shade, making his way over towards a much desired breakfast. They’d found a small oasis, nestled back in a canyon, and had been there nearly a full day, having arrived very early the previous morning.The nights were cold, the days were boiling, and the cliffs raised to either side left the tents in the shade for all hours of the day, except for a few sweltering hours at midday. The sun still had not finished rising, but the temperature in their little crevice was already stretching towards uncomfortable, the sweat already beading on his brow.    He rolled up the sleeves of his tunic and made his way over to the requisitions table, sweat quickly evaporating in the parched, rapidly warming air.

He made a list on a scrap of paper of all the things he’d need to collect while he was out and about in the wastes. _Of course it’s mostly rocks, because what could be better than hauling rocks on a pissed off horse through a Maker forsaken desert full of pissed off predators?_ Bastien snarled. It was safe to say he was _not_ enjoying his time in the approach, which was unfortunate, since he would remain here for much, much longer.  

A scout approached him with a water skin and Bastien readily took it, downing half the contents before passing it back. He could have drained the entire thing, but water was limited until they could clear the nearby oasis. Unfortunately, one of those ‘pissed off predators’ called a varghest had decided it was his. While Bastien didn’t want to drive the beast away from its territory, it had killed several soldiers and they would be forced to return the favor. He sighed, tucking the list into his pocket and heading back towards his tent.

He sneered at his armor. He really didn’t want to put the dumb thing back on; it was far too hot and far too heavy. He groaned as he made his way to the heavy plate, eyes narrowed to a glare as he began to unbuckle it from the stand. _May as well get it over with, the sooner you do the sooner you can see Dorian again_. He smiled at the thought, but it quickly fell. He’d thought of Dorian the entire way over, picking apart their last few interactions to try and see what he did wrong. He knew he was incredibly ignorant when it came to relationships of any kind, so he truly didn’t know where to begin.

Then it hit him. The history of hiding everything in Tevinter, then gently leading him into the alcove, away from those who would see them, just before he kissed him; Dorian hadn’t wanted anyone to see. Then when Hawke showed up, his sudden coldness… that was it. Dorian doesn’t want anyone to know. He frowned. He wanted everyone to know, to shout it across Skyhold, to kiss him in front of everyone, to hold his hand everywhere they went. His heart sank, Dorian wants to keep this secret. And Bastien would do anything to have him, and so he would have to play along, no matter how much it may hurt.

A commotion outside stopped him mid unbuckle, a horse’s angry snort and sand shifting to the shouts of a few scouts, his train of thought now fully derailed. Thinking they may be under attack, he dropped his armor, grabbed up his sword and shield and rushed outside. He started at the sight, rubbing his eyes with his arm and blinking repeatedly before accepting the sight before him. There, sitting on his chestnut stallion, tan skin glowing in the sunlight, small beads of perspiration over his forehead trailing down his glorious neck, was Dorian.

\---

Dorian didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, until one of the scouts shouted ‘Venatori’ at him. Evidently, Venatori were everywhere in the Approach, and he was an unexpected Tevinter. He halted his mount and raised his hands in the air, hoping beyond hope that one of the inner circle would come out and identify him before he was poked full of little holes. He kept a barrier spell at the ready, just in case. He’d seen the camp atop the last crest and rushed ahead, the scouts accompanying him were still a few minutes back. _Look at yourself, see how reckless you have become. What did you truly expect to happen? That he would rush out and welcome you with open arms?_   _Spin you in the air like a damsel in one of Varric’s terrible stories?_

“Dorian?”

All thoughts were silenced as Bastien’s voice washed over him. He dropped his hands and grinned down at the man. The guards turned to look at their magnificently sweaty inquisitor, lowering their weapons at a gesture from him. He set his sword and shield in the sand and approached, his features understandably confused. This was impulsive by anyone’s standards, even Dorian was a bit confused as to what in Andraste’s name had driven him to mount up and ride two days through the countryside into this forsaken wasteland.

Then again, that reason was standing right in front of him. He was lost, set adrift into unknown waters, and it was likely he would be wounded for his efforts. But after two days on horseback thinking of nothing but Bastien’s lips on his, of the sad expression he’d left with, of the sweet note left behind just for him, he no longer cared. _It is better to have loved and lost._ Even if he was nothing but a secret, even if it killed him in the end, Dorian would be with Bastien. And he would be the best cared for, the most cherished and spoiled dirty little secret ever. He wondered if this is what an Orlesian mistress felt like, he’d have to ask Vivienne. Dorian swung off his mount and smiled.

“Hello, Inquisitor.”

Bastien pushed a hand through his sweaty hair, strands sticking up wildly, all of his questions seeming to tumble forth at once, “I don’t…what are you…how did you…”

The escort finally rode in behind him, one dismounting to fulfill his mission in delivering a letter to one of the scouts in camp. Leliana had sent them with him, saying he should accompany them in case they needed ‘magical assistance’, so long as he didn’t mind staying on horseback the entire trip. She’d only smiled that infuriatingly knowing smile of hers when he said he would go, as a personal favor to her.

“I decided to tag along.” He smiled, dusting sand off of his clothes and pulling his pack from the mount, making his way over towards the tent Bastien had erupted from. He lifted the flap and tossed his pack inside, turning to walk back towards Bastien, who was frozen in place. “You weren’t joking. This place is rather warm…and decidedly miserable.”

Bastien watched as Dorian dusted more sand from his sleeve, his cheeks a bit flushed from the heat and exposure. He shook his head once more and stared hard at Dorian, trying to assure himself that this wasn’t a mirage.

“What?” Dorian raised an eyebrow at him.

“N-nothing. I just… I’m surprised to see you here.” Bastien’s confusion fell to a warm smile and he nodded towards the tent. “Follow me, there is an ointment that will help keep you from getting burned.”

Every single member of the camp watched him follow the Inquisitor to his tent, and he was rather grateful for the heavy flap of leather as it fell closed. Now it was just him and Bastien. Alone. In his tent. Bastien turned and began to rifle through his pack before pulling out a vial of white liquid.

“Here, rub this on any exposed skin.”

Dorian grinned devilishly, slowly smearing the cool liquid over his neck and watching Bastien’s eyes follow the gesture. It smelled like elfroot and crystal grace and some other mineral he didn’t recognize, it was strangely cool to the touch. Bastien seemed to catch himself staring and he cleared his throat, turning. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can quite get all of my shoulder, would you mind?”

Bastien turned back without lifting his gaze and took the vial from Dorian’s hand, gently touching it to the back of his shoulder and spreading the cool liquid, gently massaging it in until it was fully absorbed. Dorian was about to make some lewd remark when Bastien sighed.

“I don’t know what I did to upset you the other night, but I’m sorry for it.” Bastien let his hand fall away.

“You said as much in your letter.”

“That’s only because I wanted you to know, and I honestly was not expecting you to show up here.” He re-corked the bottle and replaced it in his pack. He lifted his armor and finished unbuckling it. “I didn’t want you to be mad at me the entire time, but I also know you don’t like being woken up early and we left _early._ Was it the room? Did I get something wrong?”

He slipped the armor over his head and began refastening the clasps, frowning at the added layers on his already heated skin. He knew the moment he walked out of this tent he would be drenched once more.

“No, the room is perfect. So was the tome, before you ask.” Dorian added quickly, seeing the look on Bastien’s face. His brow furrowed and Dorian sighed, stepping over to help fasten his armor. “You didn’t do anything. It was just…a passing thought.”

“Dorian-“

“Let’s get going. Don’t want them getting suspicious.” Dorian winked and pushed out of the tent, leaving Bastien behind.

Bastien hesitated, letting the flap fall closed between them, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. Dorian’s words confirmed his suspicions and it hurt him more than the mark ever had.


	35. Miserable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The main reason I turn off friendly fire...

The mounts trod silently over the sand, their faces covered in a fine fabric to keep out the majority of the sand. The white patches on Bastien's piebald had been mostly covered, but some areas had already begun to turn pink with a burn. The horses' breaths came out in heavy gusts, sweat and foam dripping down their legs. The worst part was the wind. It snaked over the baking sands, carrying the heat directly against their skin and peppered with thousands of grains of sand. Everyone kept their scarves bundled over their mouths to keep out the worst of it, and their heads hung low. The ritual had been a disaster, they’d lost the ringleader who had managed to manipulate Bastien’s mark and every single Grey Warden had died. Shortly after leaving, they’d been set upon by Whiteclaw raiders, then a small pack of quillbacks. Safe to say, no one was in a talking mood.

They rounded a corner and stumbled upon the nest of the varghest who’d claimed the oasis. Everyone raced to dismount as Solas’ cool barrier slid into place and they all attacked at once, their mounts racing off to wait at a safe distance. The younger varghest fell rather quickly, but the alpha of the pack refused to fall and a small group of Venatori archers were making their way down to the fight, eager to pick off the Inquisition soldiers in their weakened and distracted state.

Dorian decided it would be best for the beast to flee, to let them all catch their collective breaths and grab some potions. He summoned a rather powerful Horror spell, aiming it directly at the varghest. But at the last moment, it leapt out of the way, landing safely a few feet behind Cassandra. Standing on the opposite side of the beast, eyes focused on the rapidly moving creature, was Bastien. Dorian tried to shout, tried to warn him, but he was too late and his spell was too quick. The Horror hit him full force and Bastien froze in place, eyes wide but unseeing.

_Oh no…Merciful Andraste, no…_

_\---_

Bastien froze after a strange impact raced through his veins, stealing his sight and leaving him standing on a lit pillar in the dark. He blinked and rubbed his eyes furiously, but nothing changed. Suddenly, in the distance, another pillar of light formed, swathing Jean in its light. The figure smiled and held out his hand as flames began to lick at the edge of his uniform, racing quickly up the sides. Thick black smoke flared around him, swirling in the darkness as bright red eyes and flickering black scales leaned forward, a toothy mouth opening wide to pour flames on his older brother. But Jean didn’t move, though he was being roasted alive in his armor. 

“Jean!” He cried, racing forward, tripping over his feet before finally gaining momentum. His sword and shield fell uselessly to the side, tumbling into the chasms on either side of him. He had to get to Jean, he couldn’t let him die again. Something sharp hit his shoulder and he stumbled a moment before racing forward once more. The stone floor seemed to shift beneath his feet, his steps were sluggish and difficult, but he had to make it in time. “Jean!”

“Bastien!” A voice shouted behind him and he skidded to a halt, turning to see Dorian standing on the pillar where he once was. Ice began to consume the pillar, tugging at the edge of Dorian’s robes. He glanced back to Jean, the face of his beloved brother twisting in agony as he began to cry out. He looked back and Dorian had continued forward, ice clinging to his ankles.

Another sharp hit to his back pulled him back to Jean as his brother fell to his knees, screaming his name. He couldn’t hesitate; he turned and ran as hard and fast as he could towards Jean, but by the time he arrived, the figure was twisted into one of those horrifying skeletons that littered the ground at the temple, it’s back arched in agony, blackened bones of fingers digging where cheeks and eyes used to be. Bastien fell to his knees beside it, reaching a hand out towards the figure, tears racing down his face.

“Jean….” He groaned and fell forward on his hands, tears soaking into the strange floor of the ridge.

A hand rested on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He heard his name as if at a distance and turned to look and saw Dorian, completely encased in ice. He’d been so focused on Jean, so focused on trying to regain the past, he’d let Dorian die. He’d failed. He should have saved him. He should have done more. He should have told him everything. He should have held his face and told him every last thought that had passed in his mind since their first kiss. He’d fallen hard and fast for Dorian, and he was completely lost and more than a little scared. But now he was gone, never knowing how cherished he was.

“Dorian…” He groaned, lifting a hand to fist into his hair as he doubled over, pressing his face against the solid ground.  

Only it wasn’t solid anymore, it shifted beneath his legs and his face sunk, soft grains tickling his cheeks. He sucked in a breath of dry air and his ribs screamed. He winced and lifted his head. He was in the desert, kneeling next to the charred corpse of a Venatori archer, not his brother. A sharp pain in his back and his shoulder, a hand gripped on his uninjured shoulder, shaking him.

“Bastien!” Dorian shouted and Bastien felt all the air rush from his lungs and he looked up.

Dorian stood before him, eyes wide and terrified, but perfectly fine and not at all frozen. His eyes traced over Dorian’s entire body, but there was no ice, not even a sliver. He stood and, despite the pain in his shoulder, wrapped his arms tightly around Dorian before sinking weak and winded back to the ground.

Dorian knelt before him, face crushed against Bastien’s neck as the man panted out sharp and shaky breaths. He could hear the violent thunder of Bastien’s heart despite the armor, the pulse point racing against his cheek. He was drenched in sweat but shivering, and his grip was borderline painful. Solas approached quickly, reaching for the arrows and ripping them out, quickly healing the wounds the moment the points were removed. Each tug made Bastien tighten his hold and Dorian ground his teeth, this was completely his fault.

He’d known the moment Bastien dropped his shield that he was lost in some construct of his own custom nightmare. He hadn’t even seen the Venatori archers shooting at him, it was dumb luck they’d only hit his shoulder and his back. He cursed himself once more, if he hadn’t called Bastien’s name, he would have been able to dodge that last arrow. Because of him, he had to live through his brother’s death once more. That much was clear from his shouting. But why had Dorian’s name been involved? What did he fear that related to Dorian? _How selfish of you, Pavus._

“Dorian…what do we do now?” Cassandra asked; her eyes wide as they bored into his features, she was nearly as shaken as Dorian. “Is he alright? What did your spell do?”

He winced, “He should be fine, Solas has healed the worst of the physical damage, but I do not know what he saw. We need to get him back to camp, he is still shaken and needs a stable place where he feels protected to help his mind realize he is not in danger and what he saw was merely a very bad dream.”

Bastien tugged him closer, pressing their bodies tightly together despite the awkward angle and burying his face in Dorian’s neck. Dorian pushed gently against his chest, trying to pry him away before Cassandra and Solas became suspicious. If Bastien wanted to keep this a secret, he was off to a rather poor start. _And whose fault is that?_

“Bastien.” Dorian said, his tone gentle but firm, “We need to get up and go back to camp. There is no threat here.”

Bastien twitched but reluctantly let Dorian go, allowing himself to be helped up, his hand locked tightly in Dorian’s. He was suddenly so very tired and so very thirsty, the sun beating down mercilessly against his armor despite hanging fat and lazy on the horizon. He stumbled and fell against Dorian and, with the help of him and Cassandra, he was hefted back onto his horse. He slumped forward in the saddle and Dorian grabbed the reins, leading the beast back towards camp. Fortunately, they’d established one nearby so the trek did not take them long.

With the help of the guards, they managed to get Bastien out of his armor and into the tent. They fully intended to give him privacy, but the moment Dorian stood to leave Bastien grabbed his hand and pulled him back, eyes wide. Dorian called for water, which was brought immediately, and sat back beside Bastien, passing off the skin which was consumed greedily. The moment it was finished, Bastien ripped his bloodstained shirt off over his head, his skin still burning, and fell back onto his bed with a sigh as the slightly cooler air of early evening kissed his sweat soaked skin. Against his will, his eyes closed, bone deep exhaustion outweighing the fear as he slipped away.

Dorian saw his breathing slow as he drifted off. Seizing the opportunity, he stepped out of the tent for more water and a rag to clean themselves up, as well as some food, Bastien would be starving when he woke. He learned that around the same time he learned to cast the spell, and had accidentally cast it on himself.  He gathered up the materials quickly and darted back inside the tent before Bastien awoke, knowing his sleep would be flooded with more nightmares as his mind tried to process the incredibly vivid waking dream. He removed his armor, it was far too hot in the tent to stay in so many layers, and tugged on the shirt front in an attempt to fan himself. He should have stayed back in Skyhold. _This is what happens when you are impulsive. This is what happens when you don’t rest and decide you can handle it._

“Dorian…” Bastien murmured in his sleep, his brow furrowing, the hand which had been resting over his chest flailed uselessly in the air as he tried to find him in his sleep. Dorian caught his hand and gripped it tightly and Bastien settled, falling back to sleep for just a moment before rocketing upright, eyes wide. He glanced around frantically, unseeing, hand still tightly gripping Dorian’s.

“I’m here, Bastien, you’re safe.” Dorian shifted to sit closer beside him, cupping his face in his hands, “You are safe and everything is as it should be.”

Bastien’s arm reached out and curled around Dorian's waist, tugging him tightly against himself as he pressed his lips to Dorian’s with a whimper, his other hand bracing against the back of Dorian’s neck to pull him closer. He turned, dragging Dorian across his lap and down to the bed beneath him.

“Ba-,” Dorian was cut off with another forceful kiss, his voice halted but his mind racing.

He seemed so desperate. The way his arms coiled around Dorian, bracing against his back and keeping most of his weight off him, the way his lips absolutely devoured his as if they had been starved. He felt the tide begin to rise, dragging him under with it as those lips desperately moved against his, as Bastien’s tongue pressed its way into his mouth, claiming his own easily.  He soon felt breathless, his body on fire as Bastien’s hand roamed up his back, the other clutching his hip to keep him close, anything to get him closer. Dorian would have been more than happy to use himself to distract Bastien, at least, until he felt the tear fall hot against his cheek, heard a soft whimper become a choked sob. He pushed him away and pulled Bastien firmly against his chest, cradling him there as the man began to sob in earnest. _What on earth had he seen?_

“I lost you.” He murmured through his tears, “Maker, Dorian I lost you and it was all my fault.”

Dorian didn’t know what to say. Bastien was a wreck in his arms all because he thought he’d lost Dorian? They hadn’t even had sex and he was this attached? _It isn’t always about sex._ He’d forgotten that. Dorian leaned forward and kissed the top of his head gently. Bastien buried his face into Dorian’s chest, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist as he lay to the side, their legs entwined.

_Sometimes it’s more. This is more._

_You should know better._

“I’m not going anywhere.” Dorian murmured, letting his head fall back against the pillow, his hands tracing the scars over the exposed expanse of Bastien’s back. He continued tracing the scars where he could feel them, occasionally rubbing at the tense muscles, until Bastien drifted off to sleep once more, his ragged breathing settling.

He lay awake, staring at the roof of the tent, listening to the camp outside as everyone settled in as the sun began to set. He reached over to his pack, barely managing to grasp the edge, and pulled his bedroll out, draping it haphazardly over the two. It would be freezing cold soon, and different monsters waited in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading/commenting/kudo-ing/bookmarking! You all make it worth the time and effort!!!


	36. A Leap Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chap is NSFW-ish at the end! That is if your work doesn't like steamy make out sessions, the party poopers. Heads up!

Bastien was incredibly sore when he woke, his muscles strained, his mouth parched. But he couldn’t bring himself to move, even if it were to fetch the water skin in the corner of the tent. Beneath him, Dorian’s breath was soft and shallow in sleep, his arms still wrapped around Bastien’s shoulders. Despite the nightmares that had wracked him through the night and each time he closed his eyes, he smiled. Dorian’s face was relaxed, cheeks flushed pink, his skin warm from being smothered beneath Bastien and the blankets. He felt himself blush as he glanced at Dorian’s mustache, all mussed and disheveled from the onslaught of Bastien’s mouth. He couldn’t even bring himself to be all that embarrassed about it.

He shifted forward slowly, so as not to wake Dorian, snaking his hand up from the man’s hip to cradle his cheek. His thumb brushed softly along his cheekbone, hesitating briefly at his beauty mark. Dorian shifted into the touch with a sigh and Bastien smiled wider, his heart clenched in a vice, threatening to erupt from his chest. _Maker’s breath he is beautiful._

He leaned forward, brushing his lips gently against Dorian’s. The latter murmured, breathtaking eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep even as he returned the delicate gesture. Bastien smiled as Dorian’s head fell back against the pillow with a groan.

“Is it already morning?” His voice was thick with sleep.

Dorian wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, but he was sure he’d been up for a grand portion of the night. Barely beginning to doze before a guard rotation would pass and startle him awake, before Bastien would twitch in some new nightmare from Dorian’s mistake. It had been a miserable evening and now that morning had come, now that Bastien was kissing him so gently and he felt so warm and comfortable despite the terrible conditions, he had no desire to get up.

“Yes, unfortunately.” Bastien grumbled, none too eager to pull himself away from Dorian either. A stirring outside the tent was what woke him in the first place as the camp came to life in the early dawn. It was the only few hours they had that weren’t freezing or boiling, so they had to be fairly productive. This morning, they were intent to head out and make their way back to Skyhold. They’d been out here four days already, and he was surprised to be so excited to be surrounded by snow. But, until they knew what was happening at Adamant, there was nothing more to do here but wait.

But for now, he was cradled up against Dorian and didn’t feel like he should be embarrassed, didn’t feel like he needed to run away. It was the first night they’d spent together since their first kiss and Bastien was a little giddy. He could finally take his time waking up with Dorian and enjoy every aspect of it.

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra’s voice broke the silence, a gentle tapping against the support beam of the tent.

 _Or not._ Bastien sighed, pressing a gentle kiss to Dorian’s perfect nose before shifting to a crouch, hissing at the pain in his back as he tried to stretch it out.

“One moment, Cassandra.” He sighed, grabbing his discarded shirt, sneering at the sight of the blood stains before standing with a hiss and walking over to the tent, destroyed shirt clenched in his fist by his side. He opened the tent flap and poked his head out side.

Dorian saw the lack of effort to keep the tent closed. The sun shone in brightly, burning his tired eyes but outlining Bastien wonderfully as the shadows shifted against his skin, he couldn’t look away. He smiled despite himself, unable to stay sour after the wake up he had just received. It almost felt like an actual relationship. It wasn’t, but it still felt nice. Bastien let the tent flap fall back closed and grabbed his pack, digging through it to grab a clean shirt, pulling it over his sleep addled hair. He knelt down beside Dorian.

“I have a few more things to take care of here in camp, you can go back to sleep if you want, I’ll come get you when breakfast is ready.” He cupped the back of Dorian’s head and pulled him forward, kissing his nose once more before letting go. He pulled on his boots and slipped out of the tent quickly.

Dorian’s cheeks felt warm and he pressed his fingertips to them as the blush spread over his face.  _I do not blush._ He chided himself even as his cheeks continued to burn, the sweet wakeup and goodbye still playing over in his mind. He huffed out a sigh and fell back against the bed, pulling the blankets back over himself to try and combat the chill hanging in the air now that Bastien was no longer pressed against him. He pressed his eyes shut, but Bastien’s smiling face, his soft hazel eyes with those warm flecks of gold melting him flashed in his mind and his heart skipped, the heat on his cheeks growing warmer. He growled at himself. This would hurt when it was ended.

But why wasn’t Bastien making any advances? Usually by this point in Dorian’s experience the man would have had him writhing against the sheets, or visa-versa. So then what was Dorian to make of this lack of sex? An attempt to make something more genuine than a quick lay? A lack of interest in anything but a pillow? Something pretty to look at to start the day?

Aside from the confusion these thoughts brought, he didn’t truly mind the lack of the physical intimacy that stretched far beyond the limited kisses. Not that he didn’t want to because _Maker_ did he want to, but this was all new territory, and Dorian very much enjoyed taking time in exploring new territory. Perhaps he was waiting for Dorian to initiate?

Dorian blinked. Why had that thought not crossed his mind sooner? Bastien was such a shy and chaste creature, always pausing to take others into consideration, what if he wanted to have sex with Dorian but had no idea how to approach it? What if he yearned for Dorian the same way Dorian yearned for him? What if he woke up, tangled in the sheets when Dorian wasn’t around, panting and hard after a lurid dream? The visual of that blush across his face and chest, of hazy eyes and roaming hands caused his breeches to shrink and he shifted. It had been far too long.

“Dorian?” Bastien’s voice broke the silence, “We are heading out in about half an hour, breakfast will be ready soon.”

Dorian hummed in acknowledgement, intent to wait for Bastien to leave so he could change into his normal, concealing clothes. But the footsteps approached instead, stopping beside him.

“Sorry, I can’t resist.” He heard Bastien murmur; his voice languid and very close.

 Dorian opened his eyes just as Bastien closed his, leaning forward and pressing his lips firmly against Dorian’s. With his body in the state brought on by his raunchy thoughts the kiss only added fuel to the fire and he moaned against Bastien’s lips. What would it feel like to have that mouth brush down his neck? To feel the stubble of his unshaven cheek scraping across his stomach, over his thighs, down his back.

He heard the grunt of surprise as Dorian wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled Bastien to the ground, rolling on top of him as they were tangled in the sheets. He didn’t give him the chance to question, claiming his mouth with his own, delving his tongue inside, desperate to devour, to return Bastien’s fervor from the night prior. Bastien didn’t hesitate long, his lips and tongue eagerly joining Dorian’s in the fray. His hands braced against Dorian’s hips, thumbs pressing gently against the curve of muscle as Dorian’s fingers fisted in his hair, turning his head away to dive against the curve of his jaw with teeth and tongue. His hands began to rove across the man’s chest, wedging their way under his shirt to roam over the sculpted frame beneath, reveling in the feel of the skin twitching beneath his fingers, at the air rushing from Bastien’s lips only to be sucked back in when Dorian clenched down on his neck.

Bastien’s blunt nails dug into Dorian’s back, his own hands managing to wiggle beneath the thin shirt between them to rove over the soft skin beneath. Dorian’s skin tingled, acutely aware of Bastien’s calloused hands as they roamed over his back and down his waist, as his nails bit when Dorian did, rubbing at the skin almost in apology after. A hand slipped away, cradling the back of Dorian’s head and bringing their mouths back together in a feverish kiss as both began to pant for air.

 _So, Bastien is interested._ Dorian thought hazily over the blood pounding in his ears and in other places. The strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him in close and Dorian’s hips involuntarily bucked forward, pressing his length hard against Bastien’s thigh. The kiss faltered and Dorian smiled, leaning away to smile down at the man’s face, to the blush heavily spread across his cheeks, his lips kissed plump and a shade of red competing with the heavy blush over the man’s cheeks, open and panting, pupils blown wide and unfocused. It was exactly like he’d pictured, yet somehow so much better. He slid his hand further down, fingers tracing the lines of his stomach, brushing against the trail of hair that caught his eye so devilishly all those nights ago, against the line of muscle that guided his hand further down. He lifted his hand just long enough to cup Bastien’s hard length through his loose breeches. He felt the smile on his own lips, very pleased with how the weight of Bastien’s length felt against his palm. The soft cry he uttered raced fire though Dorian’s veins and he grinned. He was definitely going to enjoy his morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fans self* Dorian you're so forward.... 
> 
> Thanks for the praise guys!! You all make it so worth it!!!


	37. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *pinches Bastien's cheeks really hard* YOU'RE...SO...PURE. TOO...PURE.   
> Bastien: *cries*

Bastien’s hand shot forward, grabbing Dorian by the wrist and pulling his hand away, trying desperately to regain control of his mind. Dorian’s sudden and intense advances left his head spinning, he hadn’t quite caught up yet. It didn’t help that most of the blood that was supposed to be helping him think had rushed to a different but equally interested party. This wasn’t how he wanted this to happen. He wanted to do this right, not rushed in a tent with Cassandra less than twenty feet away. Cassandra had to be at least seven flights of stairs away. He shook his head and brought Dorian’s hand to his lips, pressing them against his palm as he closed his eyes, trying desperately to get his heart to calm. It didn’t help that Dorian hadn’t stopped moving.

“Do we-“ Dorian cut him off with a heated kiss that left his head spinning, desperately trying to focus even as he felt the mustache tickle its way back over to his neck, teeth grazing against a wonderful spot. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard, eyes fluttering shut. “Do…do we have to…”

He couldn’t form his thought, not with Dorian’s teeth on his neck, but he needed to say this. He wanted this to be something special, something they could spend the day on, treated like something special, not something callous. He wedged his hands up to cup Dorian’s face, bringing his forehead to press against his own.

“Do we have to move so quickly?” He gasped out, his heart thundering in his ears, erection aching in protest of his words.

Dorian froze, unsure of what to think. Here he was panting and rutting against Bastien, ready to do whatever the man asked so long as he kept making those wonderful soft noises, and he was stopping it? He shifted up on his elbow and looked down at Bastien’s now clearer eyes, his brow furrowed. He was pulling back, even with his erection twitching against Dorian’s leg.

“Quickly?” Dorian scoffed, “We’ve been positively chaste by my standards.”

Bastien shifted Dorian’s weight off of him, sitting up and rubbing his face before leaning over to grab the discarded water skin to bring it to his lips and down several gulps and splash some on his face. He handed the skin to Dorian, refusing to look him in the eye. If Bastien were to look at him now, hair disheveled, lips plump, lust plain on his features, he would storm out of the tent right now, demand the inquisition stay another day and spend the rest of that boiling hot day wrapped up with Dorian. But he couldn’t and he wouldn’t, not here, not when he could do this right if he was patient for just a bit longer.

“I want…” Bastien sighed, “I want to do this right.”

Dorian watched him closely as Bastien tried to calm himself down, utterly confused by this behavior. He was more than willing to continue, and his breeches pressed uncomfortably tight against his groin as it strained against the confines, eager for some much overdue attention. If the man wanted sex then why was he hesitating? He should just throw Dorian against the bed and take him, he would be more than happy to tell him exactly what to do to do this _right_. But that wasn’t what Bastien’s tone implied. He scowled.

“What exactly is it you want from me? A relationship?” He scoffed in disbelief, tired of guessing, tired of his heart being twisted around as it tried to decide whether or not it should hope for more. Perhaps he just wanted to drag out the chase and Dorian was making it too easy for him. At the rate Bastien was going, they would die of old age or be killed by Corypheus before anything happened. But Bastien’s quick glance away, the hand rubbing the back of his neck, made Dorian pause. He tilted his head, his scowl deepening before he shook his head. “Are you serious?”

Bastien only blushed harder, clearing his throat. He turned and took one of Dorian’s hands in his and rubbed the knuckles gently with his thumb, he still couldn’t look at the man, but he could trace the lines of his hands for days.

“Is that such a terrible idea?” He murmured, knowing Dorian could hear him. Was that not what Dorian wanted?

Dorian stared at him blankly, his breath stolen from him in complete and utter shock. He looked away, cheeks burning. He needed to come up with a snappy retort, but he fell blank against Bastien’s honesty. He was being sarcastic, he was being spiteful, he wasn’t expecting… _yes_. How many times had he told himself this would never happen? How many times had he hoped and been crushed wanting this to happen? And now that it was happening, he had no idea how to respond.

“Speechless I see.” Bastien grinned, finally looking up, frightened by his silence. His heart soared when Dorian gave him a small smile.

“It doesn’t happen often.” Dorian replied, breathless. He had to explain to Bastien why this was such an…odd and unexpected request, “Where I come from anything between two men is… strictly physical, it doesn’t go beyond that. It it’s not that you don’t care you just learn… not to hope for more.”

…Which was exactly what Dorian had been doing all along, despite years of experience to the alternative.

“One more good reason to leave.” Bastien smiled when their eyes met once more, but they were soft, “Why would no one hope? What is so outlandish about this?”

Dorian frowned, his eyes sad, “You say that like it’s a simple thing, easily imagined. But…I have no examples with which to compare.”

Bastien’s hand brushed against his cheek, his thumb tracing the lines of his cheekbones, a soft laugh escaping his lips as he smiled at Dorian. “I think this is rather obvious but I’m going to say it anyway… I have no idea what I am doing.” This earned him a small smile. “But what I do know is that…I care about you, Dorian, more than I should probably say out loud and more than I wanted to express in this tent. I want to spend unreasonable amounts of time with you, I want to wake up with you every morning and _not_ feel like I should be embarrassed for crossing some unseen line. I want to go to sleep at night with you curled up in my arms. I want to kiss you whenever the hell I feel like it and I want you to feel free to do the same. As far as the finer details go, we’ll both just have to figure it out as we go. If…” Bastien’s voice faltered, his confidence wavering as what he’s already said began to sink in, “If you want.”

Dorian blinked as he stared into Bastien’s open and honest face. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, honestly he wanted to run. He’d never been in a committed relationship, his entire experience with the word restricted to trysts that lasted barely more than a week. But here was Bastien, asking for more, encouraging his heart to open up and hope, to let the warm smile and heavy blush on Bastien’s face soak into his skin. And at the moment, Dorian wanted nothing more. He smiled.

“Fine.” Bastien’s eyes lit up as Dorian finally spoke, turning his head to kiss the palm against his cheek, his eyes immeasurably soft, “Have it your way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments and Kudo's!! You are all amazing!


	38. Judgement

Preparations were heavily underway in Skyhold, tension cracked in the air at every turn, tempers raged, passions flared – if Bull’s stories were anything to go by- and the tavern had never been busier. Massive siege weapons were being built in stages, ready to be reassembled once they arrived at Adamant fortress. Hawke and Stroud’s investigation had proved invaluable, pointing out possible infiltration points and structural weaknesses of the supposedly impregnable stronghold.

After that first excruciatingly long meeting, it was all preparatory work. The forge billowed thick black smoke that caught the wind and twisted around the base of Skyhold, resting it upon a tumultuous cloud. Refugees had been piling in by the dozen, training swords rang cold in the breeze, and nobles from across Thedas had come to see what this Inquisition was turning to beneath Bastien’s hands. But those were the least of his concerns at the moment.

Bastien shifted on the throne, fur draped over his shoulder to push out the bite of the fall air. Their cells had begun to fill and, like it or not, it was up to him to decide what to do with the rabble waiting below. He clenched his teeth and shifted once more, bracing his arm against the thick wood of the Ferelden throne. He was immensely uncomfortable with this aspect of ‘Inquisitor’, but, as Cassandra had stressed, it was his task and his alone. These people were only here on his order, by the choices he’d made. He sighed as an Avaar tribesman was led before him in chains. The sight made him falter. He’d killed the son of a chief along with several loyal followers all to save a small handful of Inquisition scouts. As he recalled, the son had more than deserved it, and would have continued on his destructive path until he was put down, but the father shouldn't suffer for the fault of the son.

He blinked, stunned at the accusation Josephine put before him. “You answered the death of your clan…with a goat?”

He nearly wanted to laugh, especially since the goats somehow managed to make it out with only a few minor injuries and were currently stuffing their faces in the stable. He looked at Josie, who turned down her assistance. The man was startlingly jolly for someone in a courtroom, no matter how unnecessary it was. He slapped goat’s blood on Skyhold, and now he was done. The end. But the prying eyes of the Orlesian nobles demanded something must be done.

“A red headed mother guarantee’s a brat.” He laughed, and Bastien blushed slightly, clearing his throat. He had the perfect plan for this, and he hoped Dorian wouldn’t kill him for it.

“I cannot have this happening again, Chief Movran, so I banish you - with as many weapons as you can carry,” The room gasped and he hid his grin poorly, “To Tevinter.”

He looked up in time to see Dorian enter the room, a grin plastered to his face at the judgment. He smiled himself, ignoring the chatter around him. Dorian was happy, he was happy, Movran was happy. Tevinter …not so much. But it was time for the next judgment.

Bastien felt his jaw clench as Alexius was brought before him. He was thrust forward and stumbled to his knees, head hung low. Bastien wanted to be furious; he wanted to descend upon the man for what he had done in that terrible future, of what he would have unleashed.

“All the people we lost at Haven and yet somehow you survived.” He growled through grit teeth after Josie listed his crimes. 

  _Remember, Bastien, it was Corypheus not Alexius, the man was only trying to save his son._ But what he would have done… He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, sinking further in the furs of the throne. Josephine enlightened that the ‘former magister’ was his to do with as he pleased. He could cut his head off and not one person would care, he wouldn’t, it wasn’t who he was, but no one would stop him and he was far too tempted. He forced himself to look away in an attempt to regain his composure and caught Dorian’s gaze from across the room. He saw the strained effort to look apathetic, the casual lean against one of the lingering scaffolds, but the concern was plain in his eyes, the tense set of his jaw.

 _I hope the Inquisition goes easy on him…for Felix’s sake._ He sighed and propped his arm against his thigh, staring down at Alexius.

“I remember what would have happened, if you succeeded.” He struggled to keep his composure.

“I couldn’t save my son.” Alexius growled, “Do you truly think my fate matters to me?”

Bastien didn’t register the taunt. This man did everything to save his son, an affection not lost on him. And now, thanks to his efforts, he would be stuck here, he’d lost what little time he’d had left rotting in the Inquisition’s dungeons. An unwelcome wave of guilt washed over him and he sighed. He ventured a glance back to Dorian as Josie prompted him to pass judgement, but the man was gone, no doubt bracing for the worst from the expression on Bastien’s face. How much had this moment weighed on him? How much had this betrayal hurt him? Hurt all mages? He made his decision.

“You swore to the mages you would help them, I will have you uphold that promise. Any coin, influence, and knowledge you posses will go towards aiding the mages future.” Bastien ignored Alexius’ snide reply, he knew the man would rather die, to join his son in the fade, but he was, if Dorian was any judge, incredibly intelligent and he was not about to let that resource go to waste. He hoped Dorian wouldn’t hate him for it.

Judgments for the day done, he unfurled himself from the throne and, bowing to the nobles gathered for the momentary entertainment of deciding a man’s future, departed the room, making his way towards Dorian’s alcove. Several interruptions delayed his trek, nobles asking their own favors, comments on his judgments and surprisingly two marriage proposals. He replied, and declined, all as tactfully as possible before stealing away to the stairs that took him straight to Dorian’s floor of the rotunda.

“You have no idea what you are doing!” Mother Giselle’s voice echoed in the stairwell before he even opened the door.

“Being clucked at by a hen, evidently.” Dorian snapped back. Bastien picked up his pace and tossed open the door to see Giselle and Dorian toe to toe.

“Don’t play the fool with me young man!” She shouted, jabbing her finger in Dorian’s face.

“If I were playing the fool I could do a rather more convincing job, I assure you.” He growled, unflinching.

“Your glib tongue does you no credit.” She scoffed, tossing her hands in the air. Dorian’s scowl turned into a sly, scathing grin.

“You’d be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, _your reverence._ ” Dorian purred, the sentence shooting a bolt of rather inappropriately timed electricity straight down his spine to pool warm in Bastien’s gut. He cleared his throat, trying to suppress the pleasant shudder still caressing his skin at the words repeating in his head, washing over him. Now was not the time for that. _Later. Later was the time._ Both parties’ eyes shot to face him at the sound, Dorian smiled smugly.

“What is going on here?” He inserted himself beside Dorian, shifting himself between the two.

“Oh…I-“

“The Revered mother is concerned about my _undue influence_ over you.” Dorian interrupted, filling in for the poor and startled mother. She regained her composure admirably.

“You must know how this looks. Certainly you understand, Inquisitor.” She said gently, she wasn’t an outright offensive person, and she was normally very good at keeping a calm and unbiased head on her shoulders. But when it came to Dorian, the resident Tevinter, she was a little…ok _a lot_ skewed. Bastien looked between her and Dorian, not understanding in the slightest. What undue influence could Dorian have over him? His heart fluttered the answer but he pushed it down like he would a hyperactive Mabari pup, gently, to be unleashed later. But it wasn’t undue. Bastien was madly in love with Dorian, not that he had truly come to terms with that or was anywhere near telling Dorian anything of the sort, and that Dorian was entertaining the idea of a relationship was more than Bastien could have hoped for... His own personal feelings aside, Dorian had risked life and limb nearly as often as Bastien had in service to the Inquisition. Dorian’s small smile at his confusion didn’t help.

“You might have to spell it out for him, my dear, he’s far too sweet to understand such things.” Dorian said gently before turning a sharp eye to the Revered Mother.

“This man is of Tevinter, his presence at your side…the rumors alone…” She struggled through her sentence, trying to make it come off as delicate as possible.

“I don’t truly see how that is a problem.” Bastien interjected, “Do you?”

“There is potential, I am afraid. You spend a great deal of time with him, and it is clear his…council means much to you. I am concerned that you will be…unable or unwilling to remove this man from your side…if it should become necessary.” She added and Bastien’s blood felt hot. He saw Dorian tense out of the corner of his eye and he wanted to snap at her. And he’d practiced too much self control already this morning.

“Unwilling or unable to…. _Maker,_ either? Both? He’s not going anywhere.” Bastien shook his head and squared off his stance, “If these people see such issue with his presence despite his continued personal sacrifices then they are not welcome. That includes you, Revered Mother.”

He saw them both start at his words, the mothers eyes were shocked and saddened, her head hung. He knew he was being harsh, and he truly cared for his woman, but his feelings for Dorian were much stronger, and he was tired of seeing the man be stepped on by people who refused to get to know him. 

“I do not wish that to be a necessity, Mother Giselle, I rather enjoy your conversation and your council has helped me on many occasions.But if you cannot look past his heritage, if you continue to propagate these rumors and bias about him based on your on preconceptions of a nation you’ve never ventured to and continue to refuse to get to know the man behind the nationality then I will have to ask you to leave. Please, do not force my hand.” His tone was softened at his request. The mother had sacrificed much to help them, he truly hoped this wouldn't be the breaking point of her loyalties. 

The mother was quiet for a moment, and for the majority of it, Bastien was worried she would force him. But she nodded slowly, a sad smile on her lips but understanding in her eyes. “I understand, Inquisitor. If you feel he has no ulterior motives, I will humbly ask forgiveness of you both. I am sorry for my assumptions, Dorian, I will try to be better in the future.”

She bowed her head low and brushed gently past them, making her way down the stairs. Bastien stared after her, worried he’d just burned a bridge when Dorian snorted in frustration, turning to head back into his alcove.

  
“Well, that’s something.” Dorian’s arms crossed tightly over his chest and he stared back at Bastien, a small blush over his cheeks despite himself.

  
Bastien had come rather dashingly to his rescue once more and expressed to the entire library that Dorian wasn’t going anywhere and was personally protected by Bastien. He didn’t want to feel like a burden, but he’d never been _protected_ before. It felt rather like a warm blanket wrapping around his shoulders on a cold day. Was this what it was like to be in an actual relationship? To have a partner to protect you, stand up for you, fight for you when you couldn’t do it yourself? To hold you up when you were tired of bickering? The warm feeling in his chest grew stronger, constricting his heart until he thought it would burst.

  
Bastien stopped short, his hand coming out to cup Dorian’s cheek despite the crowded library who’d come to watch the show. He may want a relationship, but Dorian was rather certain that like every other ‘relationship’ it would be restricted to secrecy and closed doors. He pulled away and turned.

  
“She didn’t get to you, did she?” Bastien's tone was soft and comforting, it was surprisingly effective at settling Dorian's nerves. 

  
“No, it takes more than thinly veiled accusations to get to me.” He grinned, but paused, “I should ask… do the rumors bother _you_?”

  
Bastien shook his head as he looked off to the side, and Dorian sighed. Of course they did. He wanted this to remain secret but every tongue in Skyhold would be wagging about his affinity for the Tevinter mage.

  
“I wish they wouldn’t disparage you, they don’t know you.” Dorian started at the anger in his voice, the exasperation. He blinked. Bastien, sweet and kind Bastien, had just snapped at a revered mother on Dorian’s behalf. He truly was a terrible influence.

  
“ _Is_ my influence over you…undue?”

  
Bastien stepped closer, ignorant or uncaring of the eyes staring at their every move, of the fans waving, of the whispers. Dorian felt a chill as they watched, even as the heat spread from Bastien being so close, and felt a wave of security, like he could face every last scathing glare from the hopeful women standing so close to being rejected, every last poisoned whisper, every last look of disgust, so long as Bastien kept looking at him like that. _This was how Hawke looked at Fenris. This is how I want him to see me_. His eyes locked to Bastien’s and the rest of the world began to fall away.

  
“Not at all.” He laughed, a small, quirked smile on his lips. He heard the voices behind him, but unless Dorian was going to push him away there was no way on earth he wasn’t going to kiss him. If Dorian wanted this secret, he would have to work for it.

  
“Overdue, then?” Dorian quipped a bit breathlessly. When had these tables turned? When did he become the blushing and retreating one under Bastien’s stare? He never should have given him that confidence. Or so he thought, but Bastien’s blush still spread behind his smile.

  
“I tease you too much, I know.” Dorian laughed, tension seeping from his shoulders.

  
“It is nice when you turn that scathing wit on others.” Bastien laughed, taking a step back. He watched Dorian’s eyes continuously dart from him to the crowd gathered around him and as much as he would love to kiss Dorian right here and now in front of everyone, to declare to all of Skyhold that Dorian was his and if they had any issue with it they were unwelcome, he wouldn’t do it while Dorian was uncomfortable. He sighed. But Dorian followed, leaning to whisper something in his ear.

  
“Well, I’ll have to think of something we can do that doesn’t involve teasing.” Bastien’s blush was deep and hot against his cheeks and ears, causing Dorian to laugh outright when he pulled back. Dorian loved that look on the man’s face. “Soon, ideally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been so long since I updated!! I promise I haven't forgotten you all! The end of November and begining of December are hectic for school (Cause what makes more sense than to give everyone a bunch of papers and tests to do right before finals?? Am I rite?), so unfortunately it will be touch and go for posting for a while. By December... 9th-ish it should go back to as it was before! At least for a while haha Thanks to all who stuck in there with me! Here are a few chapters to keep you going!


	39. Adamant

Bastien sat atop his mount, focusing on the distant fortress. The siege weapons were nearly ready and the moment night fell they would charge. He hated this. He didn’t want war, he wanted diplomacy. He’d grown up hearing stories about the Wardens, of their valor and the battles, of the Hero of Ferelden, now queen, and her infamous slaying of the archdemon. Solas had many words to contribute to the subject, none of them pleasant. Bastien tried conversing, but Solas merely snapped about the irrationality of the Wardens’ desperation. When was desperation ever rational?

His mount stirred as Cullen rode up beside him, his massive destrier putting him a head above Bastien on his mare. It may be a massive beast, but she had far more spark, and could easily outpace the animal. She snorted at the proximity and Cullen’s stallion took a step back. Bastien patted her neck, a bit proud of her fire, before returning his gaze to Adamant.

“Is something the matter, Inquisitor? You have been up here quite some time.” Cullen asked gently, settling his mount as it stirred beneath the mare’s glare.

“I am about to declare war on an ancient order that has done nothing but protect Thedas. Sure they may be a bit misguided, but should these mistakes born of desperation really condemn all of them? If I kill their leader, if I can’t save Clarel, they’ll be lost… am I really the right person to decide if they should live or die?” Bastien blurted, his mind swimming with the thoughts and more than happy to air his concerns to Cullen.

“So far you have been the only one who has not outright condemned them, the only one speaking of their past virtues, so yes, I think you will do just fine.” Cullen smiled, “Besides, we only know that the mages are corrupted. The warriors may yet have their minds; it is possible we can save some of them.”

“Not enough.” Bastien murmured before sighing, “But it will have to do.”

Cassandra called up to them, the trebuchets were ready. It was time to march on the fortress.

\---

As if things couldn’t get worse, what with the blood ritual and the Tevinter mage manipulating Clarel and all the Wardens, the Archdemon showed up. Bastien’s palm sparked at its presence, his subconscious reacting to the memory of their first encounter, of his near death experience. Clarel didn’t take too kindly to its presence either, blasting it in the chest with the largest bolt of lightning Bastien had ever seen. Mages truly were incredible.

Unfortunately this only managed to agitate the monster and it descended on the fortress, blasting friend and foe alike as it continued its pursuit of Clarel. Bastien, Dorian, Cassandra, and Solas made short work of the Pride demon with the aid of the Wardens. Bastien absently wondered if this would help change Solas’ perception of them, even as he doubted it. They followed Clarel to the bridge, skidding to a halt just inside the archway. Clarel had the Tevinter mage pinned, crawling on the ground, until the dragon returned. It snatched Clarel in its massive jaws, shaking her to and fro before dropping her unceremoniously to the ground.

“Clarel!” Bastien shouted as he rushed forward, followed shortly by his companions to assist her. He had barely reached her when he heard the stones crunching and crumbling beneath a massive weight, pulling his attention up as the Demon slid like a serpent to the broken bridge. He lifted his shield and stepped in front of Dorian, Cassandra moved to cover Solas. They stared down the beast as it advanced. They were cornered. Bastien’s urge to help the woman led them all to be pinned between a sharp drop and a massive demon. “Shit.”

The beast crept forward, his gaze locked on Bastien, ichor dripping from his mouth to sizzle on the stone.  Images of the battle in Haven flashed in his mind.

“In war, victory…” Clarel’s voice barely carried over the sound of the massive beasts footsteps as it advanced, “In peace…vigilance…” It grew frail as her blood seeped into the stone below, the archdemon stepping over her as it drove the group back, crouching down and preparing to pounce. Bastien knew he couldn’t deflect, but damn it he was going to try. He held his shield up tighter, his face drawn. Clarel’s hand raised slowly, blue arched between her fingers. “In death…sacrifice!”

She shouted her last words, blasting the beast with a monstrous bolt of lightning between the plates of its chest, knocking it off balance and spilling its blighted blood as it flailed through the air, barely clearing their heads before slamming hard into the bridge. It shook with the force as the Demon tried to claw its way up, to catch some hold, before it slipped into the chasm beyond. Bastien was about to relax, about to ease his guard, when they all suddenly dropped several inches. His heart leapt into his throat and he tasted bile on his tongue. The bridge was collapsing.

“We have to move! Now!” He shouted, turning to push Dorian into a run. He glanced back, half expecting to see the archdemon but locked eyes with Stroud’s strained features as he scrambled, his body hanging over the edge. One more jolt and he would fall to his death. He pivoted on his heel and raced for him, his adrenaline powering him forward as he grabbed the man’s wrist and hefted him up onto the now crumbling bridge. He shoved him forward hard, nearly sending the man sprawling as they both leapt from fragment to fragment. His eyes shot forward, Dorian wasn’t clear. He had to get Dorian clear. But his legs were burning, they’d already run so far. His knee buckled but he managed to maintain his footing. But it didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

Several feet before Dorian, the bridge gave out, dropping all of them to the chasm below. The air rushed from his lungs as the air whipped past him with the massive chunks of stone. He heard the crash of them beneath him as they slammed into the waiting chasm. His eyes fixed on Dorian’s for a brief moment, and his hand sparked urgently. It radiated up his arm, whispering in his ear to open. He didn’t understand, but he turned, stretching out his arm and his palm radiated, a swath of green cracked in the air, splitting to gape before them as they all fell into the rift, enveloped in the cold, eerie slime of the fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for comments/Kudos/Bookmarks!! You make it all worthwhile! As always, constructive criticism and suggestions are always welcome!


	40. Into the Abyss

He braced for impact, but at the very last second, he bounced, falling up into the sky. His stomach lurched at the sensation, even before he was tossed back downwards, spiraling back towards the stone earth. He braced once more, but nothing happened. He hung weightlessly just a few feet above the ground. He reached forward, perhaps if he could get a grip…

He slammed down hard with the barest touch, knocking the wind from his lungs. He struggled to catch his breath and, finally managing; he looked up at the eerie green and glowing sky, and saw Hawke. He blinked a moment, very confused, but yes, that was Hawke....walking on the ceiling.  _How the hell..._

“If this is the afterlife the Chantry owes me an apology.” Hawke grinned down at Bastien, pacing on the ceiling. “This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.”

Bastien scoffed and rolled painfully up to sit, looking around, and spotting Stroud on the opposite pillar from Hawke. The man looked paler than usual as his eyes flitted about this strange realm, finally settling on Bastien. “Where are we?”

“We are in the fade.” Solas’ voice had his head whipping around to see his companions, all struggling to stand and make their way over to him. “I never imagined I would be here physically.”

Bastien forced himself to standing despite the pain in his back, which Solas so kindly seemed to notice despite his awe and approached with a spell in hand to mend the deeply bruised flesh. If they were physically in the fade then he was exceedingly grateful he brought the resident fade expert along with him for the battle. He glanced over to Dorian, who was already examining a strange crystal jutting out from the ground, and seemed overall uninjured. Bastien let out a sigh of relief at the sight and only barely managed to resist rushing over and embracing him.

“This looks nothing like any area of the fade I have experienced.” Solas murmured, “It is likely influenced by whatever demon reigns here.”

“The last time I was in the fade, it looked nothing like this.” Hawke added, his tone a bit miffed.

“And the last time I was in the fade I met a rather charming Desire demon. We chatted and ate grapes until he tried to possess me.” Dorian scoffed and made his way back over to the group, “It is likely due to the difference of being here physically, versus dreaming. That and so many of us together, it is likely the fade does not know what to represent that would appease us all.”

Bastien rubbed his mark as Dorian spoke, it had quieted back down to a delicate warmth, nearly pleasant tingling in his palm almost like it was proud of itself, of Bastien for understanding its command. He hated that it had ordered him, but it had saved his life. He’d hated the thing for so long, but here it had kept them from becoming unrecognizable smears on the valley floor. Hawke’s voice snapped him out of his morbid thoughts.

“Was it like this when you were here?”

Bastien paused, trying to think, but something was blocking him, some wall kept him from reaching any memory dealing with the fade. He began to walk and shook his head, “I…don’t remember.”

The group followed in a profound silence, slowly picking their way through the soggy earth, boots squelching in the muck. The only sounds that broke the silence were Solas’ dreamy sighs and Cassandra’s rather short replies. He couldn’t truly blame either of them, this place was terrifying but intriguing.

“Solas, you’re the expert on this place, any advice?” He moved closer to Dorian as he spoke, earning a strange look from Hawke followed by a small smile.

“It should be a fascinating experience.” Solas mused, his eyes glimmering as he examined a table on a wall, adorned with various skulls at different states of decay along with a solitary pie.

“Oh now that… that is not normal is it.” Dorian exclaimed, his voice wavering as he joined Solas by the table.

“No,” Solas chuckled, giving Dorian a small smile as he turned to follow Bastien past the table, “I would suspect not.”

But what caught them all off guard, what had them all suck in their breath, what made all their jaws drop in unison, stood peacefully around the next corner.

“Divine Justinia?” Cassandra murmured, “Is it really you?”

They approached with caution as she spoke, as the Divine addressed Cassandra. Bastien swallowed the lump in his throat, “Cassandra, is it really her?”

“I…do not know.”

“It is likely we face a spirit.” Solas added, a smile seemingly stuck on his lips. “One who is here to share its knowledge, possibly even assist us in our endeavors.”

“Or a demon.” Stroud contracted, earning a glare from Solas.

“It does not matter. Debating this will take time, which we do not have.” The Divine interrupted the two, extending her hand towards Bastien as she began to explain the Nightmare, and its role in Bastien’s life. “It has taken something from you, and before you can leave this place, you must get it back. These, are your memories, Inquisitor.”

With a wave of her hand, several wraiths appeared and began their onslaught. They leapt into battle, caught entirely off guard.

“Why are your memories attacking us!?” Dorian shouted from somewhere behind a pillar as he launched fire.

“How should I know!?” Bastien returned, his sword slicing the last one in two. Small, flighty orbs danced around where the wraiths fell. With a brief look to Solas, who gestured to the mark in his palm, he extended it and braced for the worst.

All things considered, it wasn’t truly that terrible. It was not comfortable by any means, but the small, bright blue firefly wisps danced before his eyes, tickled up his arm, seemed to dispel some of the pain, or at least distracted him from it. The moment they were gone, the memory was back, and something seemed to light in Bastien’s mind, a bit of the wall breaking down. The voices boomed in his head, or so he thought, until they all reacted to the sound. He finished absorbing the last memory, and fell to his knees as the pain shot through his skull. Why did everything have to hurt?

But the pain was quickly forgotten as the scene played before them of the Divine’s capture…at the hands of the Grey Wardens. Hawke seemed about ready to rip Stroud in two after display, and the latter seemed happy to let him try, but they didn’t have time for this.

“Sweet Maker, will you both just shut up!” Bastien snapped, earning a startled look from the two, and the rest for that matter, “You can argue when this is done.”

He turned on his heel, rubbing his temple as they pressed forward. Without any restricted access, his mark was flaring worse than usual, drawing as much power as it desired from their surroundings. It pulsed stronger than ever with each heartbeat, pulling at him from within. He needed to get out of the fade, and quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Kudos/Bookmarks are life! Thank you all so much for your support!! <3<3


	41. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourselves for relationship development. If you felt like the last few chapters were transitional, its because they were. If you still liked them... then I love you.

_Some foolish little boy has come to steal the fear I so kindly lifted from his shoulders._

Bastien shot awake as the Nightmare’s voice reverberated through him, his mark cracking and sparking. He was drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around his legs as he dreamt of their time in the fade. He couldn’t stop shaking, despite the beast being trapped forever in its ever changing prison. He stood, untangling his legs with a few sharp kicks and made his way to the wash basin, the bare skin of his torso pricking as his sweat began to dry in the icy air. He stared at himself in the small mirror, tracing the scar on his nose, the edge of his brow, the gnarled one on his cheek. He locked on his own eyes, the remnants of the fire catching the gold at the center, dissipating in to the forest green; the same eyes as Jean.

He clenched the edges of the basin. Who the hell was he that the Divine gave her life to save him? He was nothing, he was no one. Just some nobleman’s youngest son, not even the heir, too stubborn to join the templars, too gentle hearted to join the military. Why didn’t someone else stumble into the room? Why didn’t someone else have the mark? But he couldn’t keep out of it, he had to go and find out the cause of the shouting. The rumor mill in Jader was right, he did kill the Divine.

She could have easily left him behind, she could have walked through that rift and made it to safety. She could have gone on to end the mage-templar war in one fell swoop. Instead, she’d stopped to help him up, putting herself in the position to be snatched by the demons, allowing him to escape. She had been such a miraculous person, and the world had lost her because of him. He grabbed the basin and tossed it across the room, the metal ringing loudly in the small space, the water splashing to the floor, soaking the red carpets to a deeper crimson. And now he’d left Stroud to the same fate, all so he and Hawke could live. He should have sent Hawke and Stroud forward; he should have been the one who stayed behind. He fisted his hands in his hair and began to shiver. He sucked in ragged breaths.  

 _Who the hell was he to deserve such a sacrifice?_ _Out of everyone at the Conclave, why did he live?_

“Bastien.” His name was spoken gently, but he pivoted, his eyes shot up to the figure standing at the top of the stairs.

“Dorian.” He murmured, embarrassed at his display, releasing his hair and walking over to the couch, falling into it with a sigh. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

Dorian waved off the comment but kept his tone gentle, “I’ve done much worse for far less.”

He took slow, measured steps until he reached the foot of the bed, his mind spinning. He’d come up to discuss the startling discovery he’d made in the fade, but it would be cruel to do so with Bastien in such a state. His face was paler than he’d seen in a very long time, sweat across his brow, his whole form trembling.

“I am here, if you wish to talk.” Dorian added gently as he approached, coming to sit beside Bastien. The man was very physical with his emotions, he decided it would be best to stay in range, in case another hug was needed. Bastien was always there for him when he needed comforted, he felt it only polite to do the same, regardless of his inexperience. He found himself rather enjoying the open fray from Bastien, his heart showing what it wanted when it wanted, it seemed so freeing.

“Thank you, Dorian, but I don’t want to burden you with this.” Bastien sighed, pushing a hand through his hair once more as he leaned forward on his knees.

“Please do. You will feel better.” Dorian pushed at Bastien's back until he turned to face away from him. He saw the confusion, watched it melt away with the tension as his hands began to knead at the muscles in his neck and shoulder. Bastien’s eyes softened and he sighed, folding his hands in front of him.

“I hated leaving Stroud behind. I left a man to his death so Hawke and I could escape.”

“I’m sure Fenris is rather pleased by the outcome. Not to mention Varric.” Dorian smiled, “He cares for Hawke a great deal, and you are a very close second.”

“But why?” Bastien tensed once more beneath Dorian’s palms so he pressed harder, forcing them to relax once more, “What makes me so special that so many keep dying that I may live?”

 _Ah. That._ Dorian recalled the visions from the fade, the Divine being pulled away into the darkness so Bastien could escape. It was a tough position to be in, and he felt for the man. But their time together in the twisted future told him enough to understand.

“Because without you we are doomed.” Dorian spoke softly, “I know that sounds rather melodramatic, but if Alexius taught us one thing it is that, like it or not, you are our only chance at defeating Corypheus. And, if I were to be perfectly candid, I wouldn’t have anyone else at the front. I know it hurts you, but it’s because you still care. There are plenty of heartless leaders out there, but you are different. You ensure your troops are well fed, your warrior’s well cared for, your mages well treated. You go far out of your way to ensure everyone is as happy and spoiled as you can make them and I can attest to that personally.”

Dorian stopped himself, he was running at the mouth. The tension had eased somewhat in Bastien’s shoulders, but that didn’t mean Dorian needed to continue, lest he accidently let his own thoughts on the man slip. “Regardless of how syrupy that all sounds, it is true.”

Bastien smiled softly, just the faintest tug at the corner of his lips, but it was heartfelt. He turned to face Dorian, his shoulders relaxed, the cold sweat gone, his body no longer trembling. The overwhelming need for his involvement sat like a lead weight in his chest, but he could bear it, so long as Dorian kept looking at him like that. He felt the soft spot in his chest sigh once more as those beautiful eyes stared boldly back at him. His hand moved of its own will, stretching forward to cup Dorian’s cheek, who leaned into his palm, warm and soft. He pulled him forward slowly, his heart hammering in his ears as he pressed their foreheads together.

“Thank you.” He sighed, his smile growing wider. “For letting me spoil you.”

Dorian was about to snap a retort but his lips were captured in a gentle kiss. Soft lips brushed his own, coarse stubble from a day of no shaving scraped against his cheek and he decidedly enjoyed every bit of it. A hand coiled around his waist and pulled him closer, nearly into Bastien’s lap, as the kiss deepened. He felt cherished, which was not a feeling he was very accustomed to. Secret or no, the words Bastien had spoken in that miserable tent were true, he truly did care for him. The Nightmare’s words fluttered back in his head and he pulled away from the kiss, ignoring his subconscious drive to pin the man to the couch, they needed to talk. 

“Now that you are feeling better I have a question to ask.” Which was going to be rather difficult with Bastien staring at him like that, his eyes warm and open, melting into his bones. He cleared his throat, “What did the Nightmare mean when he spoke to you?”

Bastien tensed at the memory, his eyes growing hard almost immediately as he withdrew from touch. He averted his eyes and folded his hands repeatedly over one another, the words echoing in his head.

_Did you truly think he could love someone as useless as you? You are merely a distraction to be left behind, a shadow fading in the past, and you will be ruined when he leaves._

“Bastien.” Dorian prompted, interrupting the Nightmare’s laugh.

He couldn’t think of anything to say in response. The Nightmare had been dead on. Dorian was so incredible and Bastien was so ordinary, how could he ever hope to keep him? He shook his head and sighed, standing to walk towards his desk even before deciding if he was really about to do this. One day, Dorian would return to Tevinter, he’d known that from the start, but it hadn’t stopped him from falling hard for the man, he wasn’t certain anything could have. He braced his hands on his desk, staring at his journal where it lay open. He’d written everything down a while ago, kept it hidden. He hadn’t written that he loved him, he hadn’t come to terms with that yet, but he had written everything else. But maybe now was the time for Dorian to know.

He lifted the book gently from its place and turned to the pages in question. He held it out to Dorian, who furrowed his brow at the response. With one last chance to change his mind, Bastien sucked in a breath and pushed the book into Dorian’s hand, turning quickly. It was all or nothing now. Dorian would read the words and be scared off, or he wouldn’t. Either way, Bastien would have to live with whichever the man chose. And perhaps it was better to just find out now because later… later would be much harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support! Comments/Kudos/Bookmarks are life! I will try and get a few more posted next week! 
> 
> I'm not entirely sure if this is better than the guaranteed once a week posting... like... I dont update super often and its not guaranteed to be weekly.. but you get like 3 or 4 when I do soooo..... :D


	42. An Evening to Ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW ish

Dorian watched as Bastien made his way over to the fireplace, shoulders squared, stoking it back to life and lighting the room with its gentle warm glow. A deep blush was set on his features, his gaze fixed on the fire, his frame rigid and braced for impact. Dorian stared down at the book in front of him, the long missing journal. His name stared back at him at the top of the page, scattered throughout the next several. It was an entire section about him. This was what he had been looking for, this had been what he’d wanted, but now that he had it, he hesitated. What if he didn’t like what he read? He shook his head, it was better to find out now. Later would be dangerous.

Less than a paragraph in, warmth bloomed in his chest, growing warmer and spreading through his limbs as he continued. The entire thing, every last bit of it, was Bastien trying to rationalize how quickly and deeply he’d come to care for Dorian. Of his reactions when Dorian was around, the tingling of his skin, the quickening of his pulse, the surge of energy after they kissed. The warmth spread to his cheeks as Bastien described his affection for Dorian’s nose, his distraction when meeting his eyes or watching him speak. _He is in a word, his own in fact, magnificent._

Dorian smiled and glanced up to Bastien, who’s stance was tighter, if possible. As much as Dorian wanted to rush to him, he wasn’t done reading, and he didn’t want to stop, not when each page was filled with gentle words and thoughts from a man he’d come to care for trying to understand just how much the man cared for him. It moved from his physique to his intellect, his wit and his overall charm, to the teasing and even the effect his barbs had on Bastien. His hand came to cup his mouth as he read the final lines.

_I don’t understand what is happening, but I rather enjoy it. It is strange, the way my heart both constricts and relaxes when he is near, the way my body grows tense, but at the same time at ease. I have never felt anything like this before and it is a bit frightening, but I’m willing to try and understand it. Perhaps Dorian will be as well._

Dorian gently closed the book, set it on the small table, and rose, walking quickly over towards Bastien. He was emboldened by the words of affection, of a heart twisted in confusion by his mere presence. Of a man frightened but willing to open his heart to Dorian, despite knowing his dark and sordid past. There was nothing Dorian wanted more.

Bastien turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, anticipating being scolded or a pitying explanation of why they could never be. What he wasn’t expecting was Dorian, face flushed and eyes clouded, to grab his neck and pull him forward in a potent kiss. He stared at the man’s closed eyes for a brief moment as the fire cast its shadows, heart soaring to the heavens with Dorian’s acceptance even as he still braced for rejection. His lips joined on a whimper, eager for the attentions of Dorian’s perfect lips.

 _You’d be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, your reverence._ He shuddered and wrapped his arms around Dorian’s waist, pulling him flush against him, his eyes sliding closed at the delicious contact, despite the cold buckles of the man’s top pressing against his bare chest. _Dorian was embracing him_ , he smiled, _Dorian had read everything and was embracing him_. He lifted him by the waist and spun, earning a slap against his chest.

“Do not pick me up like I’m some damsel.” Dorian chided, but there was no heat to it, he was too giddy. Bastien dove forward and reclaimed his mouth, cutting off any further complaints with his tongue. He had to admit, he enjoyed Bastien’s enthusiasm, and truly hoped that freakish strength carried over to the more intimate side of the relationship, it something he was rather keen to find out. _Soon, preferably._ His eyes darted to the bed just behind Bastien as he began to guide them backwards. Bastien offered little resistance, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he started.

“I- uh…Dorian?” His cheeks were deep crimson, his eyes darted about wildly.

Dorian simply smiled, pushing back gently until he fell, and crawling over him where he now lay on the bed, pinning his lips with a kiss, stifling complaints. Bastien murmured against his lips, silenced completely when Dorian thrust his tongue forward, claiming his mouth in an instant. His eyes slid closed once more, his tongue joining in the aggressive dance.

Bastien loved kissing Dorian, he wanted to every moment of every day, which made the infrequency all the more intoxicating when they finally came together. His eyes rolled back on a groan as Dorian’s fingers twisted in his hair. Dorian deserved every last ounce of credit for that magnificently wicked tongue.

Dorian positively burned. Bastien was radiating heat with his blush as it churned to cover his face and chest; a nearly painful expression on his face twisted his features, a look Dorian liked very much. He removed his hands from Bastien’s hair just long enough to undo the clasps holding the leathers too tightly against his flesh, he broke the kiss just long enough to shake them off his shoulders.

“Dorian, I-“ He cut Bastien off with another searing kiss, grinding his hips against Bastien’s, earning him a small, almost painful moan as their skin finally touched. Dorian absently wondered how many times he could get him to make that wondrous sound. He scraped his nails down Bastien’s stomach and gasped as his hips bucked forward, rutting hard against his leg. Dorian grinned and raked his teeth along his lip before diving in once more.

Bastien mumbled, but Dorian was beyond words. He wanted this, and he wanted this now. He didn’t need some sweet, planned out thing. He needed Bastien. And he needed him now. But as Bastien’s arms curled around his waist, as his legs curled into Dorian’s and the world turned upside down, he learned that he doesn’t always get his way.

“Sweet Maker’s tits, Dorian.” Bastien murmured on a pant, almost incoherently, pinning Dorian’s hands over his head to keep them from rubbing down his exposed torso again. “I… I haven’t…”

“ _Andraste’s_ tits,” He corrected, using the curse himself as he pulled against his restraint, more than a little thrilled by it, “And you haven’t what?” Bastien’s blush managed to burn darker, coloring his ears as he looked away. Dorian sighed, “Haven’t had sex with a man?” He rolled his hips, “Don’t worry, I’m very good with directions.”

Bastien groaned and pulled himself still further back. “Well…that… or…”

Bastien huffed out a sigh, pressing one hand through his hair, his other still pinning Dorian’s wrists as the idea slammed full force into him. _Bastien was a virgin._ The thought doused the flames, but only slightly, his more debauched side flared at the idea. He took a slow breath and nodded to Bastien, his unspoken promise to stop, and his arms were freed as Bastien shifted back.

“You’re…a virgin?” Dorian had never felt more wanton in his life, and that was impressive considering some of the positions he’d been caught in. Here he was, writhing like a whore while Bastien was trying to pull back. He grimaced.

“Sorry.” Bastien rolled and lay back on the bed beside him.

“Sorry? There is nothing to be sorry for. Well, except on my end.” Dorian murmured, turning his head to face Bastien. “I should have listened.”

“It’s quite alright.” Bastien laughed, almost nervously, “I rather enjoyed it. I just thought you should know.”

“So…” Dorian had never had this conversation before; he had no idea where to begin. “What… have you done?”

It was a painful question, the entire situation was painful, but thankfully Bastien was good natured. He laughed and rolled onto his side, facing Dorian, his head propped on his arm.

“Honestly? When you grabbed me in the tent in the Western Approach… Or this, whichever is considered further.”

Dorian was mortified. He’d forced his way this far on Bastien and the man was too kind to stop him. His own first time wasn’t that memorable, but he wanted Bastien’s to be. But how do you get someone so embarrassed by the very idea of sex to become more comfortable? Would patience be enough? It certainly wasn’t his strong suit. His concern must have shown on his face. Bastien leaned forward and brushed a gentle kiss on his forehead, one so tender it made his eyes flutter closed.

“Dorian, I do want this. I just… have no idea what to do. And I don’t know if I…can…I want to…” He turned deep red and fell back on the bed, covering his face with his hands. How on earth did you tell someone ‘hey I’m a virgin, but I want to please you however you like’? _Maker, this is painful._

“Not a problem.” Dorian grinned, settling for his usual flamboyance, “I am perfectly content with this until _you_ are ready to move forward. I…can wait.” His tone sharpened and he locked eyes with Bastien, “Do not let me push you any further than you are absolutely comfortable with. Are we clear?”

Bastien paused a moment before smiling, rocking back to his side to lean over him. “Perfectly.” He pressed their lips together once more, perfectly content to spend the rest of his life kissing Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments and Kudos and Bookmarks it makes it all worthwhile!! Thank you for being patient with me! Here is a long af chapter to show my gratitude!!!


	43. Declaration

Bastien shot awake to the sound of pounding on his door. He rubbed his face, disentangling his legs from Dorian to grab a robe, pulling it on as he made his way down the stairs to open the door, coming face to face with Cullen and Cassandra. He started, imagining Dorian’s shirtless form still passed out among the sheets, of their reaction to finding him there with the Inquisitor, of their mutually mussed hair, Dorian’s likely still disheveled mustache from a late night of heated kisses. He didn’t mind, but Dorian would.

“Inquisitor.” They said in unison, beginning to press their way in before Bastien stopped them. “We need to discuss the aftermath of Adamant.” Cullen finished, glancing to Cass and back, bewildered by the resistance the usually open Bastien was putting up.

“I will meet you both in the war room in a few moments, find Hawke if he’s not getting his ass kicked by Fenris. If the door is closed leave them be, we put them both through a lot and a discussion can wait, but we need to make sure we don’t miss him when he leaves for Weisshaupt.” He made to close the door but Cass stopped him.

“I will fetch him. Cullen, you… _discuss_ what we talked about with the Inquisitor.” Cullen blushed slightly and Cassandra turned to leave as she spoke. He smiled sheepishly to Bastien and pushed his way into the room, making his way up the stairs and Bastien could only follow helplessly behind him, trying desperately to think of something to say to get Cullen out of there.

“Inquisitor, there is something we… I wanted to speak with you about.” Cullen sighed, pausing at the top of the stairs, staring out the open window as the cool air kissed his already tinting cheeks.

“Whatever it is Commander, I’m certain it can wait a few moments.” Bastien murmured but Cullen shook his head.

“No, I must discuss this with you now, before we meet with the other advisors. It’s concerning Dorian.” He murmured and had Bastien’s full attention, “We’ve noticed you’ve become… rather enamored with him – not that there is anything wrong with that!” Cullen added quickly, holding his hands out blushing. He huffed out a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck, turning to stare at the stained glass mabari, “Maker, why did Cassandra leave me to do this, she knows how terrible I am with these sorts of things.”

Bastien froze, they were going to try and pull Dorian away? Why couldn’t he just love the man with all his being, show it off to every last person and be happy and have them be happy for him? _Wait… they knew_. Dorian wanted this to be a secret and they already knew. Damn him, he never should have gone to Leliana for advice! So much for master of secrets.

“Before you get the wrong idea I want you to know I support it, so long as you are happy,” Cullen added, “There’s nothing wrong with having fun. N-not that - oh _Maker_ … Look, I was simply wondering what your intentions were regarding him and if you both have spoken about this. We don’t want to see you hurt.”

Bastien blinked. If they didn’t know his intentions then they hadn’t heard it from Leliana. So that meant… They didn’t want… “What?”

Cullen sighed and turned to face Bastien, starting suddenly and his face went very pale, before flushing even darker red. He followed his gaze and saw Dorian sitting up in bed, hair a glorious mess, trying to figure out what the racket was that woke him. Bastien smiled at the disheveled sight before shaking his head, trying to focus. He braced his hand on Cullen’s shoulder and smiled.

“Thanks for the consideration, Cullen, really.” Cullen didn’t look away from Dorian blushing harder as time passed, lips pressed to a firm white line. “I don’t think Dorian’s going to hurt me but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I promise, I will keep you appraised but please, don’t tell Cass you found him in here. I don’t think he wants this public.”

Cullen’s eyes shot to his, hard despite the blush but Bastien smiled, hearing Dorian groan off to the side. He motioned for the man to leave, it was clear he had something to say, but nodded instead, keeping his lips firmly pressed together. Bastien closed the door behind him, locking it, before making his way back up to the room.

Dorian was rubbing his face in his palms, sitting up and blinking the sleep from his eyes before yawing widely. Bastien sat beside him and smiled, running his fingers along Dorian’s jaw and pulling his face forward as he peppered it with kisses.

“What in Andraste’s name …was that banging?” He grumbled, interrupted briefly when Bastien’s lips hit the corner of his mouth

Bastien colored at Dorian’s grumbled question. “Um… that was Cassandra and Cullen… Cullen saw you.” Dorian’s eyes flicked to his and he quickly covered, “Don’t worry, I told him to keep his lips sealed.”

Dorian sighed, his heart wrenching terribly at the statement. No matter what Bastien had said before, no matter what beautiful words he’d read, this was no different than his past affairs. The only difference now? He wasn’t getting laid. _No, this time you let yourself hope. That’s why it hurts so much more._ Without warning, the bed sunk heavily beside them as Cole popped into the room, perched on the bed beside him. They both started but didn’t have the chance to speak before Cole began, his hand twisted in his shirt front.

“Twisting. Wrenching. Burning. What is this? Why does it hurt?” He stared hard at Dorian and Bastien followed his gaze. “I don’t know how to help, but I want to try.”

“Cole.” Dorian warned the young man, a glare on his face, but the boy continued unperturbed, reaching his hand out to touch Dorian’s face.

“Secret. Shameful. Hidden. Why? What is wrong with me?”

“Cole!” Dorian snapped much sharper this time and the boy stopped, his mouth finally ceasing before a deep frown took over his features and he disappeared. But the damage was already done. Bastien’s eyes were wide, his face pale.

“Dorian?” His voice rasped, his throat tight, “What is he talking about?”

“Nothing. He is simply a confused spirit. He must have me mixed up with someone else he’s ‘helped’ today.” Dorian dismissed, waving his hands and turning to extract himself from the sheets and eyes staring at him, but Bastien stopped him with a hand on his cheek.

“Oh Maker I am _such_ a fool! I am so sorry... I thought you wanted this hidden. The story from Tevinter, your coldness around Hawke…” He shook his head. “But you don’t, do you?”

Dorian eyed him. Why would anyone want to be hidden? He looked away, he could lie, he could continue this as it was, sweet and soft and warm and wonderful and secure, if he had to be behind closed doors to have this then he gladly would. But he was already emotionally invested, and as much as this would hurt now, it would hurt so more much later. He clenched his jaw, eyes flicking back up to Bastien’s, and sighed. “No.”

Bastien’s eyes slammed shut and Dorian braced himself for the rejection he’d always convinced himself would come, shame they had to waste a perfectly fine morning with it. But Bastien stood and, pulling off his robe quickly, grabbed Dorian by his hand and drug his shirtless form out of bed. He wrapped the robe around Dorian's shoulders and continued on his way, pulling him through the door and down the stairs, ignoring Dorian’s questions as to where the hell they were going. He kicked open the door and walked right out into the great hall, full of nobles eating their breakfast, all eyes turning directly to them at the sound, agape at the sight of a disheveled and half nude inquisitor, only to widen further at his shirtless and barely covered companion as they emerged from his quarters rather late in the morning.

Bastien turned to face Dorian, dropping his hand and maintaining a respectful distance while looking at him intently. “Can I kiss you?”

Dorian blinked, feeling the eyes burning into him. They would be exposed, immediately. Now they’d done nothing but fuel the rumor mill, but this... His heart was in his throat, all this time spent convincing himself he was just a dirty secret, preparing himself to be that as long as he was here, then dropped right into the thick of exposure, he was speechless, again.

“Dorian I want this public, I told you as much in the Approach. I want to kiss you in front of all of these people.” He spoke quietly, no one around them could hear, Dorian could still back out. He clenched his teeth. “But if you don’t, then just walk away. I won’t hold it against you, but I won’t keep going with this when you think you’re something to be hidden. I don’t want to hide you Dorian. Please, can I kiss you?”

Dorian started, unsure of what to say. _How very ironic of you, Pavus. This is exactly what you wanted and he is holding it for you to take, and now you are hesitant?_ Dorian cleared his throat and nodded slowly, his voice barely a whisper when he finally managed to speak.

 “Yes.”

Bastien’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward quickly, capturing Dorian’s lips with his own, hands bracing either side of his face holding him close. He pulled away, “Thank you.” He breathed before diving forward once more.

Dorian’s head spun. He wasn’t used to the feeling of a hundred eyes on him as he was kissed by the object of his affection, as that object claimed his mouth without restraint, uninhibited by the audience. It was rather exciting, and terrifying, and made this all the more real. He heard the gasps, the chatter, the whispers, a few got up from their seats and left entirely. He was sure they were all shocked and appalled, but Dorian? He was elated, his heart fluttering excitedly as the door to its cage was opened, electricity tingling on his skin, even his mana responded, washing over him and into Bastien, if the man’s sudden gasp was anything to go by. He pulled back and apologized, but only received a warm smile in response. A throat cleared behind them.

Cullen stood awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with a huge blush over his face that disappeared into his armor. “I suppose this means I didn’t need to lie to Cassandra?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cole is such a wonderful, sweet, pure plot device.


	44. Perseverance

Bastien walked into the courtyard stretching his arms above his head, a smile firmly in place on his lips. He could kiss Dorian whenever he wanted, and very much looked forward to receiving many random kisses himself. His joy seemed to be infectious, everyone who looked upon his beaming smile couldn’t help but smile themselves, a few even giggled as he passed. He could care less what they were even laughing about, they could be laughing at how foolish he looked and he wouldn’t care. He was madly in love, he’d finally come to terms with it, and there was no greater drug.

He was passing the armory when he heard a sharp scoff, Cassandra’s if he wasn’t mistaken; Maker knows he’d heard the sound enough. He turned and opened the door slowly and Cullen cut himself off mid sentence. He froze in the doorway, afraid he’d just interrupted something and held up his hands, intending to leave when Cullen brushed past him, storming off towards his office. Bastien’s brow furrowed and he turned to Cassandra, who’d come to stand beside him in the doorway, following Cullen with a look.

“He told you he is no longer taking Lyrium?” Bastien nodded, “He thinks I should replace him, but it is not necessary. Perhaps you should go and speak with him?”

“If you think it would help.” At Cassandra’s nod, he turned and left the armory, following Cullen up the steps, not losing pace until his door was shut, cutting off sight.

He paced outside the door, trying to figure out what to say to the man who was so like his brother, and who had essentially become one during his time in the Inquisition. He paused outside the door, taking in a deep breath before charging in-- barely dodging a box as it crashed against the frame beside him. He turned and glanced at Cullen, who’s eyes were wide and a little terrified.

“Makers breath I didn’t hear you enter! I--” He apologized, holding out his hand as if he could pull the box back.

“It’s alright. I didn’t exactly knock.” Bastien interrupted, holding his hands up. The man’s face grew somber and his head hung.

“Forgive me.” He murmured, averting his eyes from the light raining down from the still broken rafters. He looked so frail, his skin ashen, his eyes sunken, like he would shatter at any moment.

“Cullen…if you need to talk…” Bastien wrung his hands, taking a few steps forward.

“You don’t need to – ah.” Cullen’s knees gave out and Bastien rushed to his side, supporting him until he regained his footing before he was waved off. He didn’t go far. “I never meant for this to interfere.”

“I know.” Bastien murmured, his own voice failing at the attempt to encourage. “You need to take care of yourself, Cullen, you _can_ do this.”

“For whatever good it’s worth.” Cullen scoffed, turning to face the window, pushing a hand angrily through his hair. Bastien listened silently as he angrily recanted the stories of his life as a templar. His parents wanted this for him? To be drugged and leashed and prostrated in servitude of the Chantry? Is this what his siblings went through? Is this was Jean went through? He bit the inside of his lip hard to keep it from trembling as his friend shattered before him. Cullen turned back to face him, his eyes rimmed red with the tears threatening to burst forth, the color on his cheeks at the anger from his unfortunate circumstances.

“Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?” Cullen murmured, his eyes locking on Bastien’s.

“Of course I can.” Bastien took a step forward, “I-“

“Don’t!” Cullen shouted, causing Bastien to start and freeze where he stood. “You should be questioning me! I thought… I thought that this would be better. That I would regain _some_ control over _my life_. But I can’t. How many lives depend on our success!? I _swore_ myself to this cause! I will not give less to the Inquisition than I gave to the Chantry!” He went still, a radical and unwelcome change from his raving, eyes frozen open as he stared off into space. “I should be taking it.” He murmured, barely above a whisper, before he pivoted on his heel, slamming his fist into the books as he shouted, “I should be taking it!”

“No! You shouldn’t!” Bastien shouted, startling Cullen in turn. He took a few steps closer before he continued, “I am not asking more of you, you give more than enough already. But look at you! You have already come so far! The Inquisition can be a chance for you to start over…if you want it to be.”

Cullen wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “I don’t know if that is possible.”

“It is.” Bastien braced a hand on his shoulder, forcing Cullen to look at him, his words earning him a sigh. "Cullen you have already gone through so much, don't let this beat you." 

“Alright.”  He hated that beaten look on Cullen’s face. But if he succeeded, he would never have to bow to the Chantry again. He could have his own life and Bastien would fight like hell to see that happen, no matter the cost.

“Inquisitor?” A small voice drew his attention to the dwarf standing just in the doorway, completely ignorant of what she had just walked in on. He looked to Cullen, who smiled weakly and nodded, the defeated look slowly giving way to a stubborn resolve. He returned the gesture, and followed the dwarf out to the bridge to the rotunda.

“What is it?” He struggled to keep his tone even, agitated at having to leave Cullen in such as state.

“Mistress Leliana sent me to fetch you.” The scout moved surprisingly quickly for someone with such short legs.

“Did she say why?” The dwarf’s silence gave him no comfort. He began to feel less and less at ease, and Dorian wasn’t even in his alcove to perk his spirits back up with a passing kiss. He wrung his hands as they crested the rise to Leliana’s perch, who quickly dismissed the dwarf and the rest of the scouts on the floor. She motioned him to join her on the bench.

“Leliana I have to admit this whole thing is making me feel rather unsettled.” He murmured, seating himself beside her. She gently laid a hand upon his shoulder and looked him hard in the eyes.

“I want to speak with you about Dorian.” She said gently, and Bastien braced himself for a conversation on their relationship was when she handed him a small missive. He furrowed his brow and began to read. Dorian was meeting with a man outside the gates of Skyhold, they were seen standing close to one another and speaking in heated and hushed tones. Bastien felt a burning in his chest and a sour taste took over in his mouth… was this was jealousy felt like?

“I do not yet know who this man is- my scouts are looking into it presently. But after what you and I discussed, I feel it only proper to inform you. You have spoken to him, have you not?” Bastien nodded. “Then he knows you care for him?” He nodded again. “Then I take issue with this meeting. I will continue to investigate and I will keep you apprised of the situation.”

Bastien felt his heart wrench in his chest as he focused on the small altar across the room, anything to distract himself. What could Dorian possibly be doing with this other man? A scout shuffled up the stairs a few moments later, passing a new missive to Leliana, who smiled upon reading it and passed it off to Bastien. He sighed out a breath of relief upon reading the words. The man was a sleazy merchant in possession of Dorian’s birthright and lording it over his head.

Well, that simply would not do.


	45. Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why cant things stay nice and warm and light? Why?

Bastien shifted, earning him a pinprick in a delicate area. He hissed through his teeth and his leg was slapped by the seamstress, her old and weathered hands too tired to care who he was, only about getting her job done and going about her way. It was a welcome change.

“Sorry.” He murmured. The old lady merely huffed in acknowledgement and resumed her work.

His entire chamber was swathed in various vibrant fabrics, nothing was safe; not his bed, not his couch, not even the banister, all were covered in fabrics and various implements of torture required to make clothing fit. Sylvie bustled from side to side, her slender legs carrying her to and fro with the different swaths for Leliana and Josephine’s approval.  At his desk, Leliana and Josephine were going over designs for the other members of the inquisition, and though he was certain it would earn him another slap from the seamstress, he had to jut in.

“I don’t think Cassandra would appreciate a dress!” He spoke quickly, and the slap came hard and quick against his backside and he blushed madly.

“Hush you.” Her voice rasped as she continued and he sighed. This was so humiliating. But maybe it only felt that way because Dorian and Vivienne were staring him down with an appraising eye, watching every motion of the woman’s hands and staring hard at every inch of his figure. His cheeks were growing sore from blushing.

The dark green fabric fit snug over his chest and shoulders, no doubt intending to make him appear more intimidating with the unnecessary use of shoulder pads on his already broad shoulders. The dark gold sash braced across his chest, tied with a black belt around his hips. Thankfully, the pants were looser than what the Orlesian’s would be wearing, comfortable and black, disappearing in to gold dusted boots to match his gloves and adornments. He did like it, as a whole, he just wished he didn’t have to be observed in the application of it. He would be in green, the advisors would be in red. He wished he could be in red and _not_ stick out like a sore thumb for once, but everyone had shot that down immediately, he blushed enough as it was, the red would only make it worse and he needed to appear calm and collected under the pressures of the game.

“I like these colors on him.” Dorian grinned, “It brings them out in his eyes.” 

“Of course you do, dear.” Vivienne smirked, “For no other reason that it is on him.”

Dorian only grinned wider, “A fair point.”

Vivienne turned to the table to grab a glass of wine for herself and Dorian so they could drink while they appraised him. Dorian’s own outfit had already been chosen, him being far less resistant to the fitting than Bastien. They’d tailored it to play up the Tevinter aspects, but only slightly, removing the spikes so often seen and replacing them with swaths of fabric or exposed skin. He would be draped in black and trimmed in gold. Bastien hadn’t seen him in it yet, but only because he was avoiding his own room like it had the blight. Dorian grinned at him, and he swallowed hard, eyes turning to look anywhere else.

“So tell me, Inquisitor, when you were in Ostwick did you attend any functions like this?” Vivienne prompted and Bastien sent her a glare. She was trying to trick him into talking so he would get smacked again. It was very rude.

“Oh I’m certain he did, he lives for things such as this.” Dorian added, sipping his wine. Bastien did his best to look betrayed, “I swear he belongs in Orlais, perhaps we should get him a mask?”

“Not a chance!” He snapped and was spanked once more. He blushed harder and glared at Dorian. Then an idea crossed his mind that would not only get back at Dorian, but every last one of them in this room who saw fit to torture him. It wasn’t like he could be any more embarrassed than he already was.

“Dorian, if you want me to be spanked come over here and do it yourself.” And the spank came right on cue, as well as the shattering of Dorian’s glass as he dropped it, jaw agape for a moment before he regained his composure. Leliana and Josephine turned from the desk, Leliana with a bright smile, Josephine with her hand over her mouth and blushing almost as hard as Bastien. Vivienne burst into laughter and Bastien suddenly realized that, yes, he could be more embarrassed. But he kept his grin on his face, kept his eyes locked on Dorian. Because this time, he won.

The seamstress stepped away, appraising her work and the others joined, forcing Bastien to turn and move, to be sure the clothing fit to his liking, which it did, and to ensure there were no flaws. Josephine and Leliana made sure to hide however much they paid for the clothing, but Bastien wasn’t truly paying attention at the moment, not with Dorian looking at him like that. The man’s cheeks had just the faintest tint to them, his eyes roaming over Bastien’s figure. He smiled.

“What do you think?” He held his arms out and turned once more, slowly walking up to Dorian since the man seemed locked in place.

“You look rather dashing.” Dorian murmured when Bastien was close.

“Dashing, hm?” Bastien reached out his arm and pulled Dorian close by his waist, brushing his cheek with his thumb. He brushed his nose against Dorian’s, elated by the rush of air that escaped the man at the gesture. “Speechless, again? I thought such a thing rarely happened?”

Dorian leaned forward and captured his lips in a firm kiss that, by their track record, was comparably chaste but no less passionate. Dorian pulled back and purred, “I don’t need words to make my point.”

A throat cleared behind them and Bastien turned to see Leliana, eyebrow raised and smile firmly in place, holding a letter in her hand. “Inquisitor, if you have a moment.”

He turned and placed a small kiss to Dorian’s nose before turning and walking over to Leliana. Dorian stood still as a statue, not quite trusting himself to move, lest he float out the window. He felt like one of those foolish women in one of Varric’s shit novels, staring doe eyed after a man, weakened by a single kiss. He saw Vivienne smirk and cleared his throat, but the woman still approached.

 “Try not to drop this one.” She handed him a new glass of wine.

Dorian nodded his thanks and took a long swig of the sweet liquid, his eyes not leaving Bastien’s back as the man read over some letter, even as another was passed off to Leliana.

“He is quite taken with you.” Vivienne purred at his side, “I wonder how long he waited before telling you of his affections.”

Dorian stayed silent, let the woman speculate. He saw Bastien smile as he looked back up to Leliana, asking her to ‘see it done’, and his heart skipped in his chest.

“I wonder how long you waited before telling him of yours.” But her teasing words were lost as he watched Bastien’s smile fall with the introduction of the new letter. He set down his glass and was at his side in two strides.

“What’s wrong?” He asked gently, glancing over his arm to see the letter. ‘ _Captain Derrick’_ … he knew that name. How did he know that name?

“My brother is writing to me.” At the hollow words, Dorian’s heart sank. There was only one possible way this could end.

“That should be all for today, Inquisitor.” Josephine smiled, picking up on the severity of the moment. She gently took the letter from his hands, “If you would please change out of your formal clothes, I will see them cared for.”

Bastien nodded numbly and disappeared into the small room to change, reappearing shortly after to a room devoid of all the bright colored fabric and only Josephine and Dorian remaining. Josephine took the clothing, replaced the letter in his hand, and left the room. He simply stared at it.

“Do you know what it could be about?” Dorian prompted gently as he returned to Bastien’s side, his hands already rubbing in gentle circles on his back.

“Only one way to find out.” He tore the letter open slowly, reluctantly, and scanned the page. There was barely any text, and the writing of that brief paragraph was short and choppy.

_Bastien._

_Eloren is dead at the hands of your precious mages. I imagine you are rather proud of their efforts; your ‘Inquisition’_

_did train them after all. I am merely writing because she would want you to know. And now you do._

_Pray we do not meet again, Captain Derrick Trevelyan_

 

Bastien sighed and set the letter down on the desk. Rubbing his face with his palms, he turned and fell on the bed, letting out a long, heavy sigh. His arms braced over his face, his jaw clenching. His sister was dead, and now his only remaining sibling had threatened his life, how wonderful. The bed sank beside him and he smelled embrium, he let the scent wash over him, soak into his bones. He sat up and wrapped his arms around Dorian, pulling him to the bed beside him and burying his face into the man’s neck. Gentle hands rubbed small circles against his back as his mind spiraled, but no tears fell. That blow had already been dealt; he had no more familial grief left to him.

His parents still saw them as too small to acknowledge his existence, Jean was dead, Eloren was dead, and his only remaining sibling hated him and would likely attack him on sight. What would he do, if he was pressed? Would he be able to fight back? He shuddered at the thought and Dorian’s arms tightened. In that moment, he was hit with a rather blunt realization.

The Inquisition was the only family he had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely Kudos/comments/bookmarks!! They are all amazing! Thank you all so much!!!


	46. Clumsy

“I am a warrior, I am not made to dance.” Bastien snapped after Josephine scolded him once more. He’d already apologized profusely for stomping on her shoes, but there was no helping it. He was not made to dance, yes he’d been taught but he’d never really developed a knack for it. Evidently, they were not only going to stop an assassination attempt and save the empire, but they would also be _dancing._ Bastien sneered at the thought.

“No, that look will get you killed in the Orlesian court, never make it again.”  Leliana scolded.

“I’m going after an assassin! They are going to try and kill me regardless!” He tossed his hands in the air. They’d been practicing for the entire afternoon, they wouldn’t even let him stop to eat, demanding he stay on task until he got it right, and after a morning of training with Cullen he was starving. The event was still a few days away, but they would be setting off in the morning and spending an evening in a port town, a very brief, power nap evening, then heading to the winter palace. It would be a lot of politics and ass kissing that Bastien really wasn’t up for. He hadn’t done any of those things since he was home, and he really did not miss it, not even slightly.

“You will be expected to dance, frequently, and establish a presence at the ball. This is not just about the assassin, this is about the Inquisitions reputation as well, and nothing in Orlais can be more detrimental to ones reputation than ruining a good pair of shoes.” Josie informed grabbing his arms and pulling him back into position for the next dance. “Now, again.”

He didn’t fare much better.

“Josie if we keep practicing you won’t be able to dance yourself. I will have crushed your feet.” Bastien sighed, pulling himself away. “We’ve been at it all afternoon, if my legs haven’t decided to cooperate yet they won’t.”

“He’s right, Josie.” Leliana added, sipping her coffee in the corner of the room, her gaze only briefly flicking up to them over her missives. “We can practice on the journey, let him have the evening to himself.” With a sigh, Josephine resigned herself, dismissing Bastien who bolted out of her office without hesitation.

A quick stop to the kitchen for a few snacks and he was off to his loft, desperate to spend some quality time alone one last time before being poked, prodded, and pestered by nobles. The ball may only take one day, but then there were several smaller gatherings Josie and Leliana had already arranged for the aftermath. Not to mention they were going to be quizzing him on noble lines all day and night for the entirety of the journey.

When he finally made it to his room, he locked the door, and stomped his foot like a horse, snorting at the door in his own little juvenile display of distaste. A snicker above him informed him he was not, in fact alone, and Dorian was peering at him over the banister. He sighed and made his way up the stairs.

“Rough day dancing?” His eyebrow quirked and he disappeared back over the banister.

“More like rough day stomping on Josie’s toes.” He fell onto the couch beside Dorian, taking a large bite of cheese filled bread and swallowing it nearly whole. “I’m going to stop an assassination plot, I need to fight not dance.”

“Not even with me?”

Bastien started, his eyes going wide as Dorian stood, removing the tray from his lap. He knelt to the floor in front of him and Bastien blushed hard.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing?” He stammered.

“Relax, I’m only taking off your shoes.” Dorian grinned as he began to unlace, pulling them from his feet quickly. He pulled his own off and offered his hand to Bastien, who took it with little hesitation. Dorian assumed the same stance Josephine held a moment ago and Bastien groaned, earning a small laugh. “Deal with it.”

With a glower, Bastien complied, only stepping on Dorian’s foot a few times but admittedly better than when he was dancing with Josephine. Within a few moments, he fell into the rhythm, not missing a single step as he led Dorian around the room.

Why, you ask?

He wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention on what his or Dorian’s feet were doing, he was too busy staring at Dorian’s eyes. The way the firelight reflected in them, bringing out those subtle flecks of blue he loved so much, the way the light caressed his rich skin, basking him in a warm glow Bastien wanted to sink into and never rise.

“See? You just needed the right partner.” Dorian grinned, hoping to boost Bastien’s confidence but only served to call his attention back to the fact they were dancing, earning him a well placed stomp on the foot. “ _Kaffas_.”

“Sorry! I’m so sorry, Dorian!” He stepped back to view the damage and started. Dorian’s feet were perfect. Each toe long and elegant, nails trimmed immaculately – of course, tapering to a narrow ankle and the faintest dusting of hair.

“What?” Dorian was more than a little confused at Bastien’s staring.

“Your feet are perfect.” Bastien whispered, which was true but not the only place his mind had gone. Just seeing that bit of skin exposed on Dorian’s ankle made him seem so much more… relaxed, open, exposed…He shook his head, he was starting to sound like Cole. 

“Naturally.” Dorian purred, pulling Bastien’s face to meet his in a languid kiss. Bastien started suddenly as he remembered something, he pulled away and ran over to his desk, bare feet slapping on the marble floors. He returned shortly with a box in his hand, which he offered to Dorian.

The pressed paper was green this time, tied with a vibrant silver ribbon. Dorian’s gaze flicked to Bastien’s anxious features before sighing.

“More gifts? Truly? I cannot fit any more books in my alcove and all the food you’ve left me has me going soft around the middle.”

“Just open it.” Bastien laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, “This one’s different, I was hoping you’d wear it to the Winter Palace.”

 _Different?_ Dorian’s brow drew taught and he opened the box quickly, wrapping the ribbon around his hand to save. He jolted, nearly dropping the box, blinking furiously because this _had_ to be a hallucination. There was no way in all of Thedas, in the entire world or in all of the Fade that _this_ object could be in this box. He reached in slowly, as if the serpent’s heads would bite him. But they sat still, golden and cold as they always had, the gemstones in the peacocks tail shone more brightly than seemed possible, the two headed serpent still stared back at him, the weight of his world in their eyes. His throat threatened to close.

“How did you…” Then he realized, his meeting with Ponchard on the battlements, “Leliana, of course. I should have known she would tell you.”

Bastien didn’t miss the sharpness in his words and was at a loss. Once he’d learned what the object was, and how that sleazy little man had acquired it, he’d made it his personal goal to see it returned to Dorian’s hands. Dorian himself had seemed adamant about its return, so why did he seem so upset?

“Did you not want it?”

“Of course I wanted it.” Dorian snapped, “But I got myself into this, I wanted to get it back on my own. It was my mistake, mine to correct. You have everyone under the sun asking you for favors, I didn’t want to be one of them, nor did I want to be indebted to you. Now I am.”

“I didn’t do this so you would owe me, Dorian. I did this for you, because it’s _your_ birthright and _you_ should be wearing it.” Bastien’s brow furrowed. He approached Dorian and tried to console him, but the man pulled away from him.

“That’s the problem.” Dorian’s expression was sour as he began to walk away.

“How is that a problem?” Bastien asked with half a laugh and he followed as Dorian made his way out onto the balcony.

“Because someone intelligent would cozy up to the Inquisitor if they could, it’d be foolish not to.” Dorian sneered, bracing his hands on the railing. “He can open doors, get you whatever you want, shower you with gifts and power.”

“I rather enjoy showering you with gifts.” Bastien smiled, but it faded quickly at Dorian’s frown.

“That’s what they will say. I’m the magister who is using you.” Dorian’s gaze fell back to the mountains, his frown pulling hard on his features. Bastien trailed the backs of his fingers against Dorian’s cheek and his shoulders went slack. “I don’t care what they think about me…I care what they think about _us._ ”

“I had no idea you were concerned about that.” Bastien smiled and pulled Dorian to face him, knowing he was embarrassing himself but it was worth it to see Dorian smile, “But if the concern is using me… then go right ahead Dorian. Or are you all talk?”

Dorian laughed outright, “Oh you are glorious. And I…am an incredible ass when it comes to accepting gifts.”

“Only this once.” Bastien leaned forward, gently pressing his lips to Dorian’s. It started soft and slow, a gentle brush of lips, spreading up to Dorian’s cheeks and nose, peppering over his forehead and earning a laugh.

“You are very difficult to stay upset with.”

“It’s a gift.” Bastien murmured, smiling as he continued to kiss all of Dorian’s features until hands braced on his shoulders, pushing him away to hold him at arm’s length.

“I _will_ repay you, you know.” Dorian stared intently into Bastien’s eyes, he hated that the man had gone behind his back to do this, but was overjoyed to have the heirloom back regardless. And it was very difficult to stay mad when someone was staring at you like that, with a blush on their cheeks and unencumbered affection in their eyes. It was not a look Dorian had ever expected to see directed towards him.

“No need. Leliana took over right after I mentioned what I wanted; she said she owed you for a personal favor, something about a ‘magical escort’?”Bastien raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching.

Dorian blanched, stuttering ungracefully a moment before clearing his throat. “A yes, that, of course.”  

“Yes, of course.” Bastien laughed, leaning forward and pinning Dorian against the railing as he claimed his mouth once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading!!


	47. A Bit of Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW - Writing sex scenes between these two is... so difficult.

Dorian should have never given the man confidence. Not that he couldn’t say he wasn’t reaping the benefits as Bastien rather gracefully led them to the bed while kissing him so passionately his head swam, but he was very much used to being the one in control, the one who initiated, the one who fanned the flames. But with Bastien’s hands roaming shamelessly beneath his already unbuckled top, the firm and coarse texture of his calloused touch raising gooseflesh everywhere it roamed, he realized very quickly that today he would have to fight for it. It was a battle he rather enjoyed.

They fell to the bed with a grunt, lips barely breaking to catch their breaths before diving back together. The last time things had become this heated, he’d only managed to get Bastien’s shirt off. This time he was dedicated, and swore to himself he would at least get him to his smalls, hopefully less. That was still patient, right? Bastien’s hands pushed at his shoulders, baring his chest as he pushed the vest down his arms and eventually off the bed. Dorian didn’t waste a moment; he reveled in the feel of Bastien’s skin against his, of the muscle shifting beneath as Bastien struggled against his passion and his bashfulness from his own inexperience. Dorian would be happy to show him everything. He hooked his hands beneath Bastien’s tunic and pulled it quickly up and over the man’s head, made easier when Bastien sat up, an act that forced Dorian to straddle him.

Dorian took full advantage of this new situation and rolled his hips, earning a groan as Bastien’s eyes slammed shut, his tongue delving forcefully against Dorian’s, who earnestly returned the gesture, pushing back until Bastien was pressed back against the bed. He kept his knees braced on either side, his chest lowered and pressed against Bastien as the man’s hands began tracing the dips and curves of his back in this slight arch. Dorian dropped his hips, pressing them against Bastien’s as he rocked forward. Bastien gasped, breaking the kiss and blushing dark enough to rival the red sheets. Dorian lowered his lips to Bastien’s ear, brushing them against the shell.

“Tell me if I push too far.” Dorian murmured, his voice thick.

Bastien’s eyes fluttered shut at the sound of it, rumbling through his chest. Already he felt the uncomfortable strain in his smalls as he pressed tighter against the confines, it was maddening. He barely managed to nod before reclaiming Dorian’s mouth, already missing the attention of his lips, the taste of his tongue. The fevered press of their skin had him reeling; he couldn’t seem to get Dorian close enough. His hands gripped hard at his hips, dragging him down hard against him and sending a jolt of pleasure down his spine.

Dorian was rather proud of himself. All these obscene and strained noises flooding his ears and he wasn’t charging forward to tear off more clothing. Then again, he very much enjoyed the broad expanse of chest blushed red and bared to him, that soft patch of hair below his navel disappearing beneath trousers. He could stare at him forever, but had other plans.

He ran his hand down Bastien’s side, gripping his hip firmly, his other hand tugging at his hair gently, before slipping his fingers beneath the hem of his breeches. He felt the flexure of muscle as Bastien struggled to keep still, felt the falter of his lips with the effort. The cloth was stretched taut beneath his fingers, the heat radiating out of the small opening he’d created. He took his time unlacing, paying fervent attention to Bastien’s mouth and neck, trailing bites and kisses as the man trembled beneath him, a thin sheen of sweat slick between them with the strain of holding back. Laces now loose, Dorian tugged the front open and Bastien let out a breath with the slight relief it no doubt brought.

“Dorian.” Bastien murmured, bringing his hand to cup Dorian’s chin, looking him in the eye briefly before delving against his mouth. Dorian stilled his advances, unsure of exactly how Bastien would tell him they went far enough. He really hoped this wasn’t it, he was already straining and wasn’t entirely certain how many times he could do this.

“Do you want me to stop?” He murmured when they broke for air. Bastien flushed at the question, but didn’t look away.

“No.” He spoke softly, the sound reverberating through his chest and into Dorian. The moment the words passed his lips, Dorian’s lips slanted over his own and long, soft, delicate fingers pulled his smalls to the side to brush against the tip. The air rushed from Bastien’s lungs and he bucked forward, immediately and startlingly eager for Dorian’s touch, his initial embarrassment almost forgotten.

And Dorian happily obliged, curling his fingers along the shaft, pressing gently as he began to move his hand. Bastien whimpered, strained and desperate, a sound Dorian hoped he would never forget as Bastien began to writhe beneath him. He clenched his teeth, taking this slow was going to be harder than he thought. He _ached_. But he would be patient, he had promised. He lifted his head to drag his teeth down Bastien’s neck, tasting the salt of his skin. 

“D…Dorian?” He felt Bastien swallow hard just to force his name out, and he paused. “No, _please_ don’t stop.” Dorian shuddered. “I was…can I…”

“You can do whatever you wish, Amatus.” Dorian nearly started at the use of the word, only to be immediately distracted by Bastien’s fingers trailing timidly down his stomach. He shivered beneath the touch, while he wanted Bastien to do the same for him, he wasn’t about to ask. But his laces began to loosen, and slender, calloused fingers slipped beneath the hem to brush against the tip, mimicking his behavior. His new lover was choosing to use him to learn the ropes he couldn’t be happier.

“Do you trust me?” Dorian murmured, releasing his hold to hook on the edge of his pants. Bastien simply nodded. With much effort, Dorian pulled away and removed Bastien’s breeches and smalls, leaving him gloriously exposed before him. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the heavy blush over Bastien’s cheeks, spreading lower, the swath of dark red hair surrounding a painful erection that twitched beneath his stare. He wanted it inside of him, he wanted to taste it, but that was a little much for one day, or so he assumed. One thing was certain: he wanted to feel all of Bastien.

He removed what remained of his own clothing and crawled back on top of Bastien, taking care to maintain as much skin contact as possible as he slid into place. The moment he could, Bastien reclaimed Dorian’s mouth, burying his fingers into his hair to deepen the kiss and keep him close, the image of him standing aroused and nude before Bastien burned into his mind. He never wanted to forget it. Dorian’s hand resumed its efforts, and Bastien had begun to do the same, but Dorian pushed his hands away. He shifted, adjusting himself until they brushed one another, bringing a muffled cry from Bastien’s lips. Bastien angled his hips and began to thrust slowly against him. He wanted to reach down, to finish everything up, he was so painfully hard. But Dorian shook his head, taking him gently by the wrists and pinning them over his head.

Dorian rubbed his length gently against Bastien’s keeping his hands up over and away from where they wanted attention the most. This was so much further than he’d expected Bastien to allow him to go and he'd be damned if he wouldn't enjoy every second of it. Bastien rolled his hips forward, upping the friction, which was all it took for Dorian. He released Bastien’s hands to grab them both in his fist. Bastien’s hand flew to his mouth to muffle those glorious sounds pouring from his mouth, the other fell to Dorian’s shoulder. As much as Dorian would revel in hearing every nuance of his pleasure, he was too close to care, and from the strained and magnificent look on Bastien’s face, so was he.

Bastien twitched, pulling Dorian’s forehead to brace against his own as he came undone, followed shortly after by Dorian, warm fluid spilling on his stomach. His heart hammered in his ears, his pulse thundered in his veins, even the mark flickered. He buried his hands into Dorian’s hair and pulled him into a heated kiss, both gasping for air.

Dorian immediately attempted to stand, to grab a cloth to clean them both up, but a strong arm wrapped around his waist and held him firmly in place, his chest pressed against Bastien’s, their mess between them.

“Leave it.” Bastien murmured, nuzzling against Dorian’s hair, drinking in the scent of embrium and sweat.

“It is harder to clean when it dries.” Dorian grumbled halfheartedly, trying once more to stand, but the arms around his waist held him fast as lips pressed against his hair.  

“Then just wait a minute. Honestly, Dorian, you don’t have to run off.” Bastien laughed, keeping Dorian tucked beneath his chin. “Just…let’s stay like this. At least for a bit…”

He couldn’t have known any better, but Bastien’s playful words hit the mark. Dorian wasn’t used to the ‘post-coitus cuddle’. He was used to finishing up, cleaning up, and getting lost. He sighed, a smirk playing on his lips, “Fine. Have it your way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry its been so long since I've updated!! I will also be leaving for Canada this thursday and I wont be able to post until I come back so I will post a few chapters now to make up for it!! Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and Kudos and bookmarks you are all so amazing!!!


	48. The Winter Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys are getting so close to what I already have written... There may be a gap coming up or a decrease in chapter frequency but I wont forget this fic! I still have so many things I want to happen!!! We still got a brother out there, don't forget!

Bastien shifted uncomfortably, his gaze locked on the roaring maw of a golden lion, one of many that decorated the gates of the Winter Palace.  He adjusted the sash across his chest for the hundredth time.

“Inquisitor, please stop fidgeting.” Josephine sighed, pressing the bridge of her nose.

“Sorry.” He murmured, folding his arms over his chest. The clothing fit well enough, but compared to the heavy armor he’d grown accustomed to wearing, he felt naked. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

“I’d be happy to help you adjust it.” Dorian purred suggestively.

“S-settle down.” Cullen barked, the red of his face only rivaled by Bastien’s.

“Inquisitor please,” Josephine sighed, keeping her tone hushed so no one outside their corner could hear her, “you’ve already made this juncture difficult enough by bringing a Tevinter, no offence Dorian, and a Qunari, no offence Iron Bull.” Each nodded in turn as Bastien raised his hand to push it through his hair, but his hand was swatted by Josephine. “And stop trying to mess up your hair, it took me long enough to get it out of your face.”

“But I like it that way.” He murmured, but Josie was already gone. He shook his head, gently so as not to mess up his hair, and sighed. Tonight wasn’t about him. If he had to dive back in to his old life of hollow smiles and laced comments for a night to save Thedas then he would, no matter how much he despised it. He took a long, deep breath and stood tall, squaring off his shoulders and rolling out his neck to stand to his full height. It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with nobility, not the first time he’d had to wear the mask. As much as he loathed to, he put it firmly in place. Drawing himself up and holding his head high, he folded his hands loosely behind his back and strode out into the crowd.

Dorian watched the transformation with mild surprise. It was so easy to forget that Bastien was from a very prestigious family, that he’d done all of this before. Bastien painted such a regal picture when he stood tall and proud, but Dorian preferred the slightly slouched, awkwardly blushing version. He watched with mild amusement, and admittedly a little jealousy, as a woman fawned over him simply for returning a ring. He thought back to the return of his heirloom, something far more important than that trinket, and his own reaction. He’d practically bitten the man’s head off. He smirked, _I like to think I made up for it._

He casually observed Bastien as he worked his way through the crowd, chatting with this or that lesser noble, flirting with this or that noble lady. This was a different Bastien completely, not once did he blush at a ladies suggestion, not once did he shy away from an over enthusiastic touch. Dorian frowned, what had his life been like before the Inquisition? Bastien was a youngest son, in a noble family, the best he could have hoped for was a political marriage to a wealthy lady, not once having his feelings considered, doing it all for the ‘good of the family’. Perhaps they were not so different after all.

Bastien kept the smile plastered firmly on his face, his eyes remaining soft when speaking with the women, as they preferred, and his spine straightening when speaking with the men, as they preferred. It was eerie how quickly he fell back into that old regiment, the old platitudes, and the old habit of ignoring a wandering hand for the sake of his family’s dignity. He entered the gates, keeping his head high, not looking to either side as nobles tittered in the sidelines, his gaze fixed on the Empress. The sooner he was finished here, the sooner he could go back to being himself.

He mentally chastised himself. He was here, he needed to remain here. One slip of the mask, and it would all come crumbling down. He bowed low to her grace, regaining his posture as Gascard spoke, as his advisors joined him on the dais, as the crowd continued its chattering. He kept his face calm, kept his posture loose, though inside he was coiled taut, his skin crawling with the thought of returning to this life. What would happen when the Inquisitions purpose was fulfilled? Where would he go? He caught a glance of Dorian in his peripheral vision and struggled not to turn his gaze from the queen, not to let his veneer crack, though his heart stuttered. He wasn’t alone, he had to keep that in mind, his friends were here, Dorian was here, and no matter what happened, even if he vomited his anxiety all over the Empress, they would still be there. He hoped.

-

Dorian settled himself next to one of the fountains in the garden, leaning against the cool marble while he sipped that delightful punch. It was cool on the tongue, but burned like fire in his throat, citrus and cinnamon and brandy. It was deceptively sweet, and before he realized it, he had a decent buzz going. He watched the stars glitter in the night sky, a cool breeze tugging at his hair. The fountain was loud enough to drown out the worst of the whispers, and he was able to relax, at least for now, watching the people as they passed. He’d seen Bastien glancing around, eyes flicking when no one was actively watching, seemingly intent on climbing up the lattice to the second story. While Dorian was confused, he’d seen the need for a distraction, and Dorian was nothing if not distracting.

He’d played the damsel fairly well, though no doubt Josephine would scold him later. He’d tossed his glass as he pretended to fall, collecting all eyes to him at the sudden loud Tevene curses accompanied by a crash of glass. A few kind souls even came over to help him up, one especially delightful woman brought him another glass of punch. By the time the chaos cleared, Bastien was nowhere to be seen. He wondered where the man was, but knew he was on his own quest and, as much as Dorian wanted to be a part of it, he had to let the man work.

Instead, his mind wandered to the sudden shift, like an icy breeze, that cut off the warmth that was Bastien. He understood court life well enough, understood that this must be Bastien’s ‘poker face’, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He forced the thought down, trying to find something to distract his thoughts away from Bastien before that nagging voice in the back of his mind began to seep corruption.

“Dorian?”

He spun, eyes locking with hazel and gold, a question plastered on their owners face. It was likely not the first time his name had been called. He pushed off the fountain, collecting himself.

“Ah, the hero returns.” He grinned, watching Bastien’s expression carefully. The mask faltered, the warmth shone through as Bastien grinned, lopsided and charming, and something inside Dorian sighed at the sight. He looked regal with his hair combed back, his shoulders straightened, his spine perfectly straight making his usual two inch advantage in height closer to four. Around Skyhold, he tended to curl his shoulders slightly, seemed less intimidating. But now, here, surrounded by nobles, his mask in place, he could have just as easily been a king.

“Glad to see you’ve returned as well. Where did you go?” Bastien tapped a finger to his temple but Dorian shook his head. “Is the punch that strong?”

“Have you not tasted it? Its rather delicious… if a bit misleading.” He followed Bastien’s lead, allowing himself to be directed to a small alcove. “You should definitely try it, you know, once this is all settled and you’re _permitted_ to relax.”

With a quick glance over his shoulder, Bastien’s gaze locked on Dorian’s, his eyes tracing over his face to settle on his lips. He felt the blood rush though him, his tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously, swallowing hard as Bastien’s eyes followed the motion, drawing closer.

“Maker, I want to kiss you.” Bastien sighed, resting his head on Dorian’s shoulder. “Do you think Josephine would kill me?”

Dorian couldn’t give a whit what Josephine would think of them kissing. Bastien’s hair slicked back, his face cleanly shaven, his broad shoulders and narrow waist accentuated by the finely tailored clothing, Dorian wanted nothing more than to adjourn to a linen closet. But instead, he sighed.

“That is entirely possible.”

“I’m sure no one would mind a quick kiss but I…” He lifted his head to watch Dorian’s expression, “I don’t think I could stop.”

All the blood that had rushed to Dorian's face immediately rushed to his groin, causing him to shudder and let out a small whimper.

“That is not fair.” Dorian growled, pushing Bastien away slightly.

“I’m sorry, I just…” Bastien sighed, his hand coming up to cup Dorian’s cheek, his thumb gently brushing his cheekbone. “I don’t understand why I can’t kiss you whenever I feel like it, whenever you want me to, no matter where we are.”

“Neither do I,” Dorian said softly, “But those are the rule of the game we must play.”

“They’re shite rules.” Bastien grumbled.

“I emphatically agree.”


	49. Unexpected

Bastien wiped the blood from his cheek, grateful the Inquisition Scouts had managed to sneak his armor in here, sparing the finery he was about to change back into. They’d been gone too long, Bastien’s skin crawled with worry that they had been missed. He hoped whichever assassin they were hunting tonight, since there were apparently multiple, were involved in the dance, and not his machinations. Before they returned to the party, Dorian held him back by the elbow, keeping him behind as Bull, Varric, and Vivienne rejoined the party. When he turned to ask what was the matter, Dorian’s lips locked on his.

Taken aback, it was only seconds before Dorian had him against the wall. He melted into the mages warm touch, feeling the mana trickling from his fingertips, lacing tendrils of heat in their wake as they traced down his spine. Dorian was all fire, all passion, and Bastien loved everything about it. Much to his dismay, Dorian pulled back, catching his eye.

“That was for earlier.” Straightening his moustache, Dorian stalked back out into the crowd. Bastien grinned, running his hand down his face in an attempt to cool the blush. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought Dorian? The man was making staying calm and collected very, very difficult.

Once back inside, the trumpets sounded, calling all to attention. He took his place beside Dorian, who’d situated himself next to Josephine. The seemingly always cheerful advisor seemed paler than usual, but before Bastien could ask what was going on, the announcer called out in a clear, carrying voice.

“Lord Albert and Lady Mariane Trevelyan of Ostwick.”

The world seemed to jolt to a stop, all sound colliding to a dull and distant whine. But Bastien had been trained too well in the game to show his reaction on his features, so he withdrew, retreating to the sanctuary deep within himself, detaching from his world. He would not allow his parents to gain the upper hand. He watched with an apathetic expression as they made their way across the dance floor to greet the Empress.

His father looked older than he’d remembered, his face lined with a few more wrinkles, his dark hair going a bit more silver at the sides, his closely trimmed beard flecked with red and grey though his cyan eyes remained vibrant. His overcoat was buttoned high against his neck, his military medals and ribbons from his youth proudly on display against his breast. His mother was radiant as ever, her vibrant red hair twisted in a complicated knot and adorned with hundreds of glittering jewels, her face glowing and soft, and her deep emerald dress setting off the green eyes he’d inherited. She looked no different. He absently and admittedly cruelly wondered if she noticed the suffering and starvation of the thousands on her way here, if she felt the loss of her eldest children, if she knew or cared he was still alive.

He knew he was being unfair. But he had always thought, in their way, his parents had loved him. Though though only his mother ever truly come out and said it and had always read him stories and spent hours with him each day, his father had always seen to his training, ensuring he had the best instructors and the best manners. However, their response to his joining and subsequent leading of the Inquisition put the idea of their true affections to rest and he was, admittedly, heartbroken and understandably betrayed.  He shouldn’t have been surprised they were here. His mother loved the dresses and the social activity of the ball, and his father saw them as an excellent method of securing political and financial ties to better serve his desires. They both attended any ball they were invited to, so long as its host was worthy enough.

He felt a hand brush his and glanced Dorian from the corner of his eye, the other man’s eyes still following the pair as they exited the Empress’ company.  His resolve strengthened. He could not avoid them, that would be cowardice, and so he turned, leaving his new family behind to circle the ballroom.

It was time to greet his parents.


	50. Family Reunion

“My Lord and Lady Trevelyan,” Bastien’s voice was cool and formal, they turned to face him and his posture remained at attention, though deliberately not rigid, “It is good to see that you are well.”

“Ah!” His mother cried, racing over to grasp his elbow, his hands still clasped tightly behind his back. Despite the majority of her life spent in the Free Marches, she had always maintained a shadow of her Orlesian accent from childhood. “My sweet boy, my little Bastien, I am so happy to see you!”

 “Likewise, mother.” He was more than a little taken aback by this warm response. The eyes of every Orlesian within earshot seemed to focus in on them. He inclined his head respectfully, allowing her to take one of his hands in hers, which she clenched tightly and pressed to her heart. He didn’t have it in him to shove her off. His father remained aloof as always, though there was a bit more disdain in the azure eyes peering down that slender nose.

“Shall I assume, then, that the rest of your little band of fools is present?” His father scanned the faces in the crowd. Bastien was suddenly grateful for the years of youth spent in court; it was likely the only thing holding his tongue.

“Yes, other members of the Inquisition are here, though not all of us, I’m afraid.” He glanced at his mother as she bounced excitedly closer; releasing his arm to move closer to his side and wrap her arms around his waist, uncaring of the glances around them much to his surprise. He allowed the arm she’d released to fall over her shoulders and pull her closer. He had missed her so very much and it was a pleasant surprise to be greeted so warmly.  Perhaps it was his father’s idea to withhold communication? Or perhaps his mother saw a social connection in him, should the Inquisition gain significant power? He returned his attention to his father, “We are far too involved in the war-torn lands of Thedas to sacrifice too many for something so trivial as a ball.”

He saw the comment land, saw his father bristle momentarily before regaining control of himself.

“Well, it is good to see they won’t want for loss of their _Inquisitor._ ” His father’s lip twitched in disdain, “Come along, Mariane.”

“Bastien, would you dance with me? We haven’t danced since you were very little.” His mother smiled up at him, ignoring his father, green eyes beaming up at him. He inclined his head in ascent, as much for his mothers sake as for his father’s displeasure.

He led her towards the dance floor, grateful for Dorian’s additional lessons on the road. He was able to get by dancing without stomping on anyone’s feet, even managed to look composed on occasion. He held her at arm’s length and she smiled up at him, seeming content with whatever he would give her. The song began and they spun, with surprising grace, across the dance floor. His mother was so much smaller than he’d remembered, her head only coming up to the bottom of his shoulder, her frame lighter and more fragile- she'd lost weight. In the brighter light beneath the chandelier, he saw her eyes, rimmed just a touch red, unable to be fully hidden by makeup.

She had been crying, likely thinking of Eloren – her only daughter- who’d loved going to balls, or of Jean, who by this point would have a small gathering of noble men and women hanging on his every word, perhaps about Derrick, who would sit sourly in the corner waiting for the ball to end. He could almost see the ghosts haunting the room around them. Now she was left with him, and he was being cold to her. He knew, subconsciously at least, that it could all be a trick, to worm her way into his heart and his life to gain the notoriety the Inquisition awarded, but he couldn’t help himself. Regardless of her thoughts towards him, he loved his mother, and he had missed her terribly. His mask slipped a bit and he pulled her closer to him, regretting his cruel thoughts.

“I am sorry, Bastien.” Her voice was small and for a moment he almost thought he’d imagined it. But when he looked upon her once more her eyes shone with unshed tears.

“For?”

She laughed bitterly, eyes flicking up to meet his. “For the way we are. We could not risk associating with you and your newfound group, I did not like it, but I understood. Your group was dangerous, you still are, and you are building an army -- But that is no excuse, I am your _mother_ , I should have written to you regardless, and I am sorry if my pride and our distance ever made you feel unloved or alone.”

Bastien’s heart wrenched at the words, nearly stumbling on his feet as he swallowed hard, looking quickly away from his mother. She moved closer, resting her head against his shoulder.

“I know you cannot forgive me, but I hope that, now, we could try…” She let out a shaky sigh, “You have always been my kindest child, always so quick to love and forgive, I hope you can find it in your heart to give your mother another chance.”

Bastien’s hand moved on its own to press against the small of her back, pulling her against him in the closest thing to a hug they could manage on the dance floor. The song ended, and he pulled her off to the side, not eager to face his father when his mother had so efficiently left him exposed.

She cupped his chin, turning his face to meet her and he took the hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “For you, mother, I will try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write her one way, but Bastien's mom disagreed.


	51. Family Introductions

Dorian had watched the whole event with a tense interest. He wasn’t sure how to perceive Bastien’s mother, she seemed genuinely happy to see him and truly hoped that this wasn’t all a ruse to gain his favor. Bastien’s father on the other hand was almost exactly what he had expected, though it was nice to see that Bastien could ruffle such coiffed feathers. He was immensely pleased, and a bit proud, of Bastien’s performance on the dance floor. Though he’d miss-stepped a few times, the expression on his face indicated a rather distressing topic despite the obvious effort to hide it. The moment they’d stopped moving, Dorian couldn’t help himself, he rushed immediately to Bastien’s side.

Bastien looked up at him over his mother’s hand and tensed. Dorian hadn’t a clue what to make of such a reaction; was he ashamed of their relationship being so public? Or was he overstepping? Before he had the chance to turn, Bastien’s mother followed her sons gaze and settled on Dorian. They were cool, analyzing, but not necessarily cold or unwelcoming. She regarded him with a mild curiosity, but Dorian felt scrutinized beneath the vivid green of her eyes. They lacked the warm gold flecks that graced Bastien’s, but they were undeniably familiar.

“Good evening,” She smiled gently, turning to face her son, “Is he someone you know?”

“Ah- yes, Mother, this is Dorian Pavus,” He seemed to regain his bearings, and his mask, as he gestured to him. 

“Is he a member of your Inquisition also?” Her curious gaze flicked back to him and he felt pinned like a moth in a specimen case.

“Yes, though it is not simply my Inquisition.” Bastien sighed and stood tall, “Dorian has come from Tevinter to lend his magical expertise, which up to this point has been invaluable.”

Lady Trevelyan’s eyes widened, her gaze flicking from her son to Dorian. He wished Bastien hadn’t been so blunt. Her arms curled tightly around her waist, fear plain on her features. She seemed to try and collect herself a moment before blurting, “He is a mage? From Tevinter?”

Dorian decided that now was as good a time as any to take over, “Yes, Lady Trevelyan, and I must say that even in my adventures in the higher echelons of Tevinter society I have never encountered a creatures so lovely as you. I am pleased you and your husband were able to make it tonight, it should prove to be quite entertaining.”

He bowed slightly and took her hand gently in his, giving her full range to pull away and was surprised when she didn’t, allowing his lips to make soft contact with her knuckles before releasing her. She stared at him a moment, then looked to Bastien. Something akin to resolve seemed to pass on her features before she smiled, admittedly a little forced, and curtsied.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Magister Pavus,” She smiled, but it faded when Dorian and Bastien shared a look tinged with humor. “What? Oh, did I say something wrong?”

“He is not a Magister,” At her surprised expression Bastien smiled wide, “I know, I made the same mistake. Apparently only the upper class of mage in Tevinter can be a Magister, and even then the seats are chosen by election or bloodlines, so it’s not guaranteed.”

Dorian didn’t remember telling Bastien that last part.

“I am trying to be supportive,” She swallowed and looked through her lashes at Bastien, “but I must admit I am a bit caught on the fact that he is from Tevinter… I know they regard mages differently but...”

He quirked an eyebrow at Bastien, who simply smiled and inclined his head towards his mother, eyes not leaving Dorian.

“I have a suggestion, if you would care to indulge me. There is some delightful punch and a wonderful garden just up those stairs, perhaps you and I should have a glass and talk a bit? I swear to answer any questions you may have to the best of my ability, so long as you swear to tell me a story or two about Bastien when he was younger.” Dorian smirked at Bastien, who immediately turned dark red.

Seeing this change, and the easy exchange between her youngest son and this man, Mariane smiled and nodded, moving to Dorian’s side, looping her arm through his.

“By all means, _Lord_ Pavus, lead the way.” She winked at Bastien and allowed herself to be led up the stairs and out into the garden.

“Don’t get too drunk without me.” He called after Dorian, who turned and smirked over his shoulder with his reply.

“You ask so much.” His mother tittered at Dorian's side, trying to be as cheerful as possible, but Bastien didn’t miss the tremble in her hands when she circled Dorian’s arm.

Bastien stood, stunned, at the edge of the ballroom. His mother had always emphasized how little she thought of Tevinter and mages alike. Yet, at such a simple introduction, she willingly walked off with Dorian to talk. About him, yes, but still… His brow furrowed and a knot formed in his stomach. Something didn’t feel quite right, though perhaps it was the icy glare boring into his back.

He turned and locked eyes with his father, standing at the railing opposite him. He bowed curtly and turned, making his way up the stairs. Family drama or not, he had an assassination to prevent. A hand touched at his shoulder, it was Duchess Flouriane. She pulled him back onto the dance floor and began to question him in earnest, though he could tell she struggled to keep her mask in place. By the end of the dance, he’d learned nothing, only left with a churning suspicion of the good Duchess.

“I saw you dancing with the Duchess! You’ve made excellent progress!” Josie smiled as he crested the stairs, her sister nodding in agreement. “Did you enjoy it?”

“It’s far better than fighting demons and horrors.” He smiled.

“I don’t believe you.” Josie laughed, shaking her head. “Be honest now, it’s just us.”

“Alright, I would rather be fighting demons and horrors.” He sighed, struggling not to rub the back of his neck.

“That is too bad,” Josie’s sister piped in, giggling, “These nobles want to eat you up.”

“So do the demons and horrors,” He smiled, sending her a wink that made her giggle, “I like my chances better with them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and being patient with me over the holidays!! <3<3<3


	52. Flouriane

Bastien sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared up at the Halla figurine. He needed it to unlock a door, for some reason a normal key wasn’t good enough and he wouldn’t have the time to come back and get it later. The largest debate seemed to be who was going to climb up into the kitchen rafters and get it. He was out, his shield was far too large and his armor far too clunky for him to get it without falling. Bull was definitely out of the picture for obvious reasons. Vivienne had stayed behind to keep the nobles distracted from their absence, leaving Dorian and Varric. 

“It is absolutely filthy up there! You cannot expect me to go crawling through cobwebs.” Dorian shook his head, arms crossed.

“I’m like five feet tall, do you know how much longer of a fall that is for me?” Varric countered.

“Bull could just lift you on his shoulders for you to grab it.” Each pair of eyes slowly turned to Bastien as he spoke. “What? Varric is the lightest, Bull is the strongest and definitely tall enough, makes sense.”

“Absolutely not.” Varric growled, sitting down obstinately on a cask.

“Y’know that’s not half bad an idea.” Bull mused, rubbing his chin and nodding. Bastien went to stand beside him, mimicking his posture as he stared down his nose at Varric.

Next thing he knew, he was airborne.

“AH!” He cried instinctively as the ground shot rapidly away from him. “Bull, what the hell!?”

“Way I see it, doesn’t really matter if it’s you, fancy pants or the dwarf. Just grab the statue and let’s get moving. I’ll try not to enjoy it too much.” Bull winked with his good eye. Bastien turned dark red and grabbed the Halla. “Hm… now that I have you up here I’m not entirely sure I want to put you down…”

“BULL!” Bastien blurted, his cheeks flaming red as he began to wiggle. He hated being carried; he didn’t think it was something he’d need to worry about since his growth spurt. Bull laughed and set him down gently, Varric and Dorian laughing all the while. It was so much easier back here, behind the nobles, letting his mask fall free. He didn’t want to go back.

As they walked through the corridors, killing Venatori and collecting more figurines, Bastien kept pace alongside Dorian. He’d fetched him in the middle of a rather animated story, being told by his mother of all people. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her so open and relaxed at a party, and wondered how many glasses of punch she’d had before he had to pull Dorian away. He was loath to do it, it was nice to see the two of them getting along so well. He smiled and bumped Dorian gently with his shoulder.

“Honestly, this was not how I was expecting you to meet my parents.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “If you were to meet them at all.”

Dorian cocked an eyebrow at him, “You weren’t going to introduce us?”

“For your benefit, I swear.” Bastien grinned, “I wanted to sweep you of your feet and run away with you, in all honesty.”

Dorian grinned, and seemed about to reply, when they heard a cry behind a Halla locked door. It wasn’t the one they’d intended to open, but a vault was far less important than an individual in distress. They opened the door quickly and rushed in, freezing in place when they were faced with a seemingly empty room. They looked about, puzzled, before Iron Bull erupted into full bodied laughter. Unable to speak, he pointed towards the bed. He was significantly taller, so he didn’t need the aid of the stairs to get a clear look, but once Bastien was high enough he snorted and covered his mouth, turning away, his cheeks burning dark red.

On the bed was a soldier, a fully nude soldier, spread out and strapped down at each corner.

“Well, this is an interesting turn.” Dorian grinned. Bastien, mature as he was, couldn’t stop laughing, though he did his best to suppress it.

The man began to ramble on and on about how Celene had tricked him, with what it was easy to guess, into betraying Gaspard. There were so many different interests in play it was getting rather tiresome, perhaps that was part of the reason Bastien couldn’t stop laughing – he was becoming delerious.

“I’m impressed you fell for this. Oldest trick in the book,” Varric shook his head.

“I’m more impressed she already had this set up on her bed.” Dorian added, causing Bastien to snort mid breath.

A few more laughs at the man’s expense, as well as setting him free for his promise of testimony should they need it, and the group tread on. Bastien was in a surprisingly good mood all things considered, that is, until they passed an alcove and his mark snapped to attention, nearly dropping him to the ground. Since closing the rift, it remained relatively quiet, but each subsequent smaller rift that he closed only fed the mark, made it grow with each use. He skidded to a halt, gripping his wrist as the initial pain subsided. Dorian was at his shoulder in an instant, followed shortly by Varric and Bull. He shook his head, waving them off, his eyes locked on a massive door, ignoring the glow of his forearm beneath the armor.

Pushing it open, he recognized a swirling tear in the center of the courtyard. What was a rift doing here and why weren’t demons flooding the courtyard? His questions were answered as Flouriane exposed her true plans, arrogant enough in her success to tell him everything. Bastien grinned, hand tucked discreetly behind his back as his mark snapped and flickered.

“Come now, Flouriane, you’re not being kind.” To her puzzled expression, he added, on a snarl, “He’s got to get used to the disappointment.”

He threw his hand forward and snapped open the rift, flooding the area with demons to charge the waiting soldiers. The party scattered, Bull charging the fray while Dorian and Varric faded into the background. Bastien stood between them and the fighting, surrounded by three soldiers who’d attempted to rush Varric. While his attentions were focused on the warrior in front of him, a rogue slipped behind him, blades glancing off his armor and a barrier Dorian barely managed to get on him in time. He pivoted on his heel, leaving his shield where it was and carrying his blade deep into the man’s neck. He fell to the ground with a gurgle, blood bubbling past his lips as Bastien wrenched his blade free. He nodded thanks to Dorian before charging the remaining two.

Soldiers and demons quickly defeated, Bastien snapped the rift shut. Cutting the man free, he charged with the rest of his party back to the main hall. He didn’t have time to change; Flouriane was likely already at Celene’s side, waiting for her moment to strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	53. Royal Gratitude

Cullen tried desperately to stop him from charging forward, covered in blood as he was, but Bastien couldn’t spare the time to change, regardless of his image, not with the empress in danger. Dorian walked up to him a moment, coating his armor in frost, he was confused up until Dorian’s fist rapped once against his chest causing all the ice to fall, with the blood, to the floor.

“I had to learn some sort of trick, I always wind up covered in blood when we venture out.” He shrugged, leaning into the hand that brushed his cheek a brief moment before Bastien charged forward once more.

“Dorian what is going on?” Cullen pried, pulling him to a stop.

“Florianne is the assassin, I assume he has some sort of plan to deal with that, he hasn’t told us anything.” He sighed wishing Bastien had given him at least some sort of cue. Across the ballroom, he saw Florianne freeze mid-step, saw the tremble in her hand when their eyes locked briefly. He glanced around, and Bastien was nowhere to be seen. Florianne made her way unopposed to the top of the stairs, just beneath the Empress. Bastien materialized from the opposite side of the room, fully clad and resplendent in his armor as it reflected the lights of a thousand candles, pausing at the base of the steps.

“We owe the court one more show, Your Grace.” Bastien smirked, though his heart was in his throat. He hoped this would work. He braced a hand behind his back, an arm extended in a bow as if asking her to dance. The challenge was clear in his eyes, and when she turned, she met his without faltering. This was her territory; she didn’t think he could beat her. He only grinned wider, straightening to casually making his way up the stairs, hands laced behind his back, “The eyes of every noble in the empire are upon us, just as you wanted, don’t forget to smile, we don’t want them thinking you’ve lost control.”

“Ah, it is always such a pleasure to speak with you Inquisitor, perhaps after-“

“I seem to recall something you told me, not long ago.” He tapped his chin in mock contemplation, “Oh yes, you said ‘All I needed was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike’. Now now, Florianne, that doesn’t sound like something a good hostess would say.”

“Bastien.” A stern voice called from the crowd, and Bastien’s gaze flicked briefly to his father’s as the older man’s long stride quickly moved him closer, his mother stood horrified, Dorian beside her, an arm around her shoulders. He had to expose Florianne now before his father ruined it.

“When your archers tried to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn’t save me the last dance.” Bastien's smirk grew, both for Florianne’s reaction, and his fathers, who stopped dead in his tracks. “It is _so easy_ to lose your good graces. You even tried to frame your brother for the murder of a council emissary.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval, his eyes growing darker, “Such an ambitious plan. In one strike, you’d destroy Celene, Gaspard, and the entire Council of Heralds, all of your enemies under one roof. But you reached too far above your ability, Florianne.”

“This is all very entertaining,” Florianne laughed, waving off the accusations with a weak smile, “But do you truly imagine anyone here believes your wild stories?”

“That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin.” Celene’s voice rang out clear and cool, causing Florianne to start and pivot to face her. Her eyes implored her brother, who shook his head and turned his back on her. Florianne was alone atop the dias, not a single merciful soul in sight as the Inquisition soldiers approached.

“You lost this fight ages ago, Florianne,” Bastien stood tall, hands folded behind his back as he stepped away from her and towards Celene, speaking over his shoulder. “You’re just the last to find out.” As she was carried away by the soldiers, Bastien addressed Celene with a bow, “Your Imperial Magesty, you and I should speak in private.” He turned to face Gaspard and Briala, "If you would accompany us." 

He left no room for their answer, walking past them and up the stairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!!!


	54. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tune in to this massive chapter find out if Bastien's mom is really a bitch!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be getting my tonsils out this Monday and I've been writing all week to get you guys a good healthy chunk before I'm out of commission for a week (or two). Because I love you and it seems like you love me (or at least Bastien) lol 
> 
> Bastien's middle name from the Wiki: (Hector, one of Andraste's loyal followers and Lord of the fortress of Nevarra from which she was captured after Maferath's betrayal). There was also: (Clothilde of Crechy, a warrior renowned for defending the innocent) which suits him way better but... that name... no

Bastien twirled the ring in his hand, letting the gold chain looped through its center pool against the stone railing of the balcony. His eyes focused on the glinting figure of the wolves as they raced about in a circle. The ring had been Jean’s. His mother had brought it with her, hoping he would be there so she might give it to him, as had been Jean’s will. She’d fluttered off shortly after that, off to chat with some new noble or other, but leaving him in a delightful solitude.

The lake glittered in the moonlight, surrounded by a sea of black trees interrupted only by the occasional carriage light snaking its way through the paths towards home. The sky far to the east was beginning to grow lighter, signaling the coming of dawn. They were permitted quarters in Halamshiral for the day, though whether they would be used was still anyone’s guess. Cullen had escaped the ballroom quickly, as soon as the events had settled in fact, eager to get away from the wandering hands of the nobles. Bastien recalled him mentioning something about troop movements as he fled. Josephine and Leliana were doing what Bastien could only call reconnaissance; the rest of his companions seemed to fade in and out of the woodwork, though Bull was a constant fixture by the buffet table. He glanced towards the garden where Dorian had spent much of the night but found the familiar fountain empty.

He looked back out over the water, a cool breeze tugging at his hair and he sighed, and then nearly jumped out of his skin as a hand brushed against his back. He turned quickly to see Dorian, smirking, and taking his place beside him.

“There was an ancient dowager looking for you, said she had twelve daughters.” Bastien’s eyes went wide and Dorian laughed, bracing his hand on Bastien’s arm with a wink, “I told her you’d already left.”

Bastien let out a sigh and shook his head, shooting a look to Dorian before taking his hand in his.

“You can thank me now or later, whichever you prefer.” Dorian grinned, squeezing his hand when Bastien remained silent. “Is everything alright? Should I leave you to be lost in thought or would you like a distraction? I can be very distracting.”

“It’s just been a very long night, though I am well aware of how distracting you can be,” Bastien laughed, leaning closer, “Especially when you’re shouting curses in Tevene.”

Dorian blushed as warm breath brushed his ear and he cleared his throat.  “Yes, well, you looked so hopeless I had to intervene.” He gestured to the ring, eager for a change in topic. “Where did you find that?”

“Ah, my mother gave it to me. It used to be Jean’s. When I was little, I would always try to wear it, trying to be just like my big brother,” He laughed, “It never fit me though and I nearly lost it several times. He would tease me incessantly over it…I can’t believe he remembered.” He cleared his throat, “He left it to me in his will, along with a few other things.”

Dorian placed a hand on his shoulder, “Do you know what you need?”

“No, but please tell me.” Bastien turned his face towards Dorian.

“Well, insofar as things we can do in public are concerned,” Bastien blushed, clearing his throat as Dorian continued smirking, “I think you need to dance.”

“Maker, Dorian, I’ve been dancing half the evening.” He grumbled, turning to fully face Dorian, a bit surprised to see him bowed low with his arm extended.

“I meant with me.” He quirked an eyebrow, trying to keep his tone light, though this would mean so much more than a casual dance. This would be them, dancing at the Winter Palace, anyone could see. Bastien smirked and sighed, Dorian braced for an impact, struggling desperately to maintain an outward veneer of calm, though his heart felt lodged in his throat.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He took Dorian’s hand in his and pulled him tightly against him, burying his face into Dorian’s neck.

“Then thank goodness one of us has some initiative.” He muttered, heart slamming in his chest so quickly he was certain Bastien could hear it. They turned around the balcony a few times, not truly paying attention to any of the music, just content to be in one another’s arms enjoying a moment of peace. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Dorian piped up again, “Did you ever get the chance to taste the wine?”

Bastien’s head lifted and he locked eyes with Dorian, his cheeks tinged pink and his eyes glinting in what Dorian assumed was mischief. He leaned down and captured Dorian’s mouth, kissing him thoroughly, before lifting his head once more. “I have now.”

 _Damn that was smooth_. Dorian looked away quickly, so caught off guard that he broke from the dance. Bastien laughed and directed him back to the railing, returning to his posture from before, but more relaxed. Dorian leaned back against the railing staring back into the ballroom.

“It was so very delightful to watch you twist the court around your little finger.” He grinned, bumping his hip against Bastien’s. “I have to admit, I was pleasantly surprised.”

“Honestly? So was I.” The sound of a heeled foot interrupted them and he turned, Dorian already facing the woman encroaching on their moment. “Oh, hello Mother.”

“Bastien, I have some wonderful news!” She rushed over to him, skirts flaring out behind her. “Do you remember Cecelia?”

“Of course.” Cecelia had been one of his best friends growing up. She’d always been present at his house since her father was one of his father’s old companions from the military. “What about her?”

“Well, after a bit of scouting on my part,” His mother winked and wiggled closer, “I found out that she has rejected all of her marriage prospects. So, I spoke with her father, and your father, and we think it would be absolutely splendid if the two of you were betrothed!” Her mother smiled brightly and wrapped her arms around Bastien, “Oh isn’t this so magnificent! You get to marry your best friend!”

Bastien’s eyes went wide, though not quite as wide as Dorian’s. He gently pressed against his mothers shoulders even as the woman in question strode onto the patio. She had changed greatly from the little girl he used to know, now standing near as tall as Bastien in her heels. It was wonderful to see her again, though he wished it were under different circumstances. 

“Bastien, how good to see you again.” Cecelia approached him with her arms outstretched, kissing him firmly on the cheek. “It has been far too long.”

“Y-yes, it has.” Bastien blushed terribly, glancing to his mother first, then Dorian who’d taken a few steps back to regard the scene from a distance. He had to end this before Dorian got the wrong idea. He had no intention to marry unless it was him. He blushed harder at the realization, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Dorian and his mother unknowingly stood in his way. “Mother, a word.”

He pulled free of Cecelia and strode several feet away, his back turned. His mother, confused, dismissed herself politely and joined him. They spoke in rushed, quiet tones, Bastien repeatedly shaking his head.

Cecelia and Dorian glanced at one another for a brief moment before her eyes flicked away. She was pretty, Dorian had to admit. Her long brown hair fell in waves to her narrow waist, her rich, brown eyes warm and soft behind thick lashes, and her lips rested in a soft pout. He felt a chill race up his spine. From a practical standpoint, he knew Bastien could do far worse for a betrothal, however… He clenched his jaw. With a pout, Bastien’s mother returned to Cecelia and asked her to give them a moment. The moment she was gone, she turned back to Bastien.

“If not her, then I have this other young lady lined up, I had just assumed you would rather marry your best friend but if you would prefer-“

“Mother, stop.” Bastien’s tone was firm and the woman started, composing herself and nodding.

“Sorry, love, I know I got a bit overexcited. I just want to see you in a happy match.” She smiled, clasping her hands in front of her, beaming at her youngest, “And, I would like to be the one to arrange it!”

“Mother, no. I am already in a relationship and I am quite happy with him.” He turned and walked over to Dorian, his expression imploring, “I am so sorry, I had no idea she would do this.”

Dorian started. Bastien had just ousted them to his mother without a second thought. He would have understood if Bastien had wanted to keep them secret from his family, for a bit longer anyway, until the bridge could be rebuilt. But perhaps it was better this way, tear it off like a wound dressing.

“It is quite alright, I can understand her enthusiasm.” Dorian smiled, his eyes flicking back to Bastien’s mother. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open, she was positively thunderstruck. She looked back and forth between the two of them rapidly.

“You...and the Tevinter? A mage?” Dorian winced, up until now she’d called him by his name. “You’re… interested in men?”

“I am interested in _Dorian_.” Bastien corrected, his fingers weaving to lace with Dorian's.

“Bastien you have to understand, you _cannot_ marry a man. Regardless of your feelings on the matter, the political and social ramifications of-“

“You lost your say in who I marry when you followed the Chantry’s lead and abandoned me.” Bastien snapped. Dorian was frozen, Bastien wanted to marry him? So soon? His heart skipped, unsure if that was the road he was ready to go down, all at once frightened and elated by the possibility. Bastien’s mother looked momentarily mortified, tears stinging her eyes before she wiped them away in agitation. Taking a steadying breath, she composed herself. 

“Darling, I understand what we did to you was wrong, and I like Dorian, I truly do, but you understand what kind of life you would have with him?” She shook her head, “You would be ostracized no matter how powerful your Inquisition becomes. I don’t want that kind of life for you.”

Bastien stood a bit taller, Dorian watched as the mask slid back into place, hardened by the recent heartbreak. He’d given his mother a second chance, and so soon and after such a night she was betraying it. He felt like a fly frozen on the wall, as though regardless of his involvement he was an intruder. If Bastien’s happiness with his family was guaranteed, maybe Dorian should step out of the picture? He shifted away and Bastien’s hand tightened, nearly painful, on his, pulling him back.

“I appreciate your concern. Now, if there is nothing else, please leave us be. It has been a long evening.” Mariane froze at the coldness of his words, shaking her head violently. His eyes were hard, staring down his nose at the small woman who suddenly seemed so very frail.  “This is not a request, Lady Trevelyan.”

“Bastien Hector Trevelyan, I am still your mother.” Her tone grew firm and she drew herself up and took a step forward, “I am a part of your life whether you like it or not. And if you have chosen a life of ridicule and ostracism to be with the man you love...” She stopped short of them and huffed out a sigh, reaching forward to grab their joined hands, “Then I have no choice but to support you.”

Bastien’s mask shattered and his jaw dropped open, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. He looked at Dorian, then back at his mother, eyes wide. “Really? You… would support us?”

“Try not to sound so utterly surprised, I had a love of my own once. He was…,” His mother sighed dreamily, lost in a tender memory as Bastien’s perception of his mother imploded in on itself. She recalled herself quickly and continued, her voice tinged with a touch of sadness, “Though I would highly advise _not_ telling your father.”

Bastien nodded mutely, his mother dropping their joined hands to reach up and wrap her arms around Dorian’s neck, pulling him into a hug.

“It was so very nice to meet you, Dorian.” She hugged him a little tighter, speaking low in his ear so only he would hear, “Hurt him and I will find you.”

She released him with a bright smile, turning her teary gaze to Bastien, who embraced her eagerly, pulling her up into his arms and twirling, his face buried in her neck. She laughed, lilting and delicate like an angel, not at all like the creature who’d all but growled in Dorian’s ear a moment earlier. Dorian smiled.

“Let me know when the wedding will be, I had better be involved in the planning!” She smiled and waved over her shoulder, disappearing back into the castle.

Bastien immediately whirled on Dorian. “I am so sorry! I had no idea that was going to happen, if you don’t want to get married I would understand – _n-not that I don’t want to_ i-it’s just we haven’t been together that long and I don’t want you to feel rushed and - and - and I still have no idea what I’m doing and-“

“Calm down, _Hector_ ,” Dorian sighed, his heart settling in a warm fondness. This was a lot more open emotion than he was used to, and he was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed. But Bastien was open and honest with him, he could do no less in return. “I feel the same.”

“Oh, thank the Maker.” He threw his arms around Dorian and drew him in tightly, burying his face in his neck. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled, “Please don’t tell anyone my middle name.”

“Hm… I’m not sure, what will you do to convince me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!


	55. Frisky Orlesians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys... its happening.... 
> 
> Also, I'm gonna do my best in the editing phase, but I'm also on a good amount of pain meds after my surgery so... please forgive typos lol

No matter how hard Cullen fought to change her mind, Josephine wouldn’t budge. Cullen tried to insist that the soldiers would be enough, the journey would be safe enough, but Josephine simply stared him down until his shoulders sagged with a heavy sigh.

“Fine, we will spend the night, but I am barricading my door.” He grumbled and began to storm off down the hall before turning, “And I’m stationing guards!”

Josephine waved him off and turned to Bastien. “What he is saying…. Is not a terrible idea. You have many eyes on you Inquisitor, and I admit that there will likely be an attempt…towards you… in a…” She blushed furiously, “ _romantic manner_.” She didn’t meet his gaze, “You should lock your door. I will station guards outside.”

It took Bastien a moment to find his voice. The visual of all the masked strangers sneaking to his room and attempting to fulfill the propositions whispered in his ear all night was too much. He cleared his throat, “Josie, the guards will need their rest. Perhaps I should stay in a different room?”

“That will only spread rumors.” Josephine shook her head, “Do not worry Inquisitor, we will not allow anyone to enter.”

 _What about Dorian?_ He wanted to ask, but he saw the reprimand in Josephine’s eyes. He knew she would let him, if they could, and the refusal to mention it said that he couldn’t. So instead, he sighed, and bade her goodnight, walking with a similarly defeated posture as Cullen towards his room, resolute that if the opportunity presented itself to share a room with Dorian, he would not turn it away.

He rounded the corner in time to see his door close. There were no guards stationed outside the door yet, and a quick glance around showed them conversing just up the hall. He hadn’t seen Dorian in a while, perhaps it was him? But wouldn’t Dorian have spoken to him first? Perhaps it was a surprise?

        _Find me ten silk scarves and I will show you a dance that will really shock them_.

He was at the door in three strides. The blush already covered him head to toe and he was very eager to see what lay beyond the door, but he paused and recoiled his outstretched hand. Was he ready for this? The way his body was reacting practically screamed _yes_ but he wasn’t entirely sure. Would it be alright to do this here? In a borrowed room in the empress’ palace? Again his body screamed for him to walk through that door and wrap himself around Dorian. But how? He rubbed his hands violently over his stubbled face. Should he have brought something? Flowers? Wine? Dorian’s favorite cheese? He pressed a hand to his mouth and wrapped his other arm around his middle, staring hard at the doorknob. Maker, he wanted to do this right. Would privacy in a lavish room be enough? What should he do?

“Are you alright?” Dorian’s marvelous voice carried no small amount of laughter, but came from the wrong direction. Bastien started and whirled to face him, glancing rapidly between him and the door. If it wasn’t Dorian, then who was in his room? Dorian’s brow drew together and he stepped closer, pressing hand to his forehead. Bastien captured it in his and brought it to his lips.

“I thought… um… Someone went in my room and I hoped- um - thought it was you.” He murmured, not meeting Dorian’s gaze as he rubbed gently at his palm, his face burning red.

Dorian’s smile fell to true concern despite this adorable response. Was someone attempting to harm Bastien? Waiting in the shadows of his room with a knife or an arrow or… He stepped forward and pressed his ear to the door. He heard shifting cloth, stifled giggles, and a few small, breathy moans from more than one individual. There was an orgy in there, just getting started, waiting for the pièce de résistance to join. He grinned wide and took Bastien by the hand.

“Come with me, you can stay in my room tonight.” Bastien nodded mutely, staring at his door with a mild confusion but still avoiding Dorian’s eyes. They made their way silently through nearly empty halls, the echo of their footsteps filling the silence. They slipped through the massive gilded door unnoticed and Dorian locked it behind them.

“Too bad the door doesn’t lock with those Halla figurines.” Bastien grumbled, “Then no one would ever get in.”

Dorian laughed and began removing the layers of his Tevinter outfit, walking over towards a small side door, locking it as well. Bastien glanced around the room, taking in the gaudy gold and ivory furnishings, the deep blue velvet couch and sitting chairs by the fire, and the claw footed tub filled nearly to the brim with steaming and fragrant water. The floor to ceiling windows overlooked the lake and forest, the moon and stars reluctantly giving way to the soft glow of pre-dawn. What really caught his attention, aside from the bath that looked immensely inviting, was the massive bed. The four posters were draped in dark blue fabric, pooling on the floor, pricking Bastien’s mind back to the silk scarves. The bed itself was massive, bigger than his back in Skyhold, and draped with blue and ivory silk sheets and what looked to be a blissfully warm and heavy ivory comforter trimmed with gold.

It was his own fault he was in such a state. Dorian had made the comment to tease him, nothing more. He couldn’t help but realize he was disappointed that Dorian wasn’t waiting for him in his room. That he wouldn’t walk in to Dorian reclining in a chair and reading or stretched out in bed, either would have suited him just fine. His eyes glanced back to Dorian, who’d already removed his coat and boots, leaving him barefoot in a sleeveless black tunic and formal breeches. It was a glorious sight, one he hoped he would never forget… But the thought of him wrapped up in those silk scarves and little or nothing else… He rubbed his palms over his face again, pressing the heels into his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. He needed to focus, he needed to calm down. Dorian was nice enough to invite him into his room and-

“Bastien?” Dorian raised an eyebrow at the obviously disturbed individual. He hadn’t moved from the entryway, hadn’t spoken a single word. _Perhaps he doesn’t wish to be here?_ The thought vanished the moment Bastien looked up in response and a shudder raced through him at the sight. Dorian clenched his teeth and cleared his throat. A heavy blush was in place, making the green in his eyes light up, what little there was beyond his wide pupils. The firelight flickered off his features, bringing out the warm hues in his hair, the warmth of his skin, the gold in his eyes. He traced the strong frame lazily, happy to finally have him really and truly alone, and felt the warmth begin to spread. Bastien, for whatever reason Dorian was not about to question, was aroused. And, for a reason Dorian couldn’t begin to fathom, he was fighting it.

He crossed the room quickly, stopping just short of him. He saw Bastien lean towards him instinctively, gaze finding and locking on his. Bastien was fighting with his self control, trying desperately to stay proper, but Dorian could see the confident man within struggling desperately to come forward and do as he pleased. As much as Dorian would delight in forcing him out and revel in the hopefully rough reaction, the thought of Bastien afterwards, all soft touches and guilt and apologies, made him resist.

“Bastien, I’m honestly not used to talking about this first.” He sighed, crossing his arms. “But I will say one thing, and you can do as you like with that information, fair?”

Bastien nodded mutely. Dorian stepped in closer, wrapping his arms around Bastien’s waist.

“I want you to kiss me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still in recovery mode but I managed to get enough written before the surgery to post at least this much. Thank you all for bearing with me!! <3 <3 <3


	56. Are You Sure?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW - aka it finally happened

Bastien didn’t wait for a second request. He dove forward, pressing his lips hard against Dorian, wrapping his arms around him, gathering him up and pulling him close. Something about Dorian, the way his lips felt, his skin, his scent, set Bastien on fire and burned away his self control. No matter how much he wanted to go slow, no matter how anxious he was at what may be to come, he couldn’t slow down. With a quick tug, he loosed Dorian’s shirt from his trousers and buried is fingers beneath, pressing against the warm skin at Dorian’s lower back, thumb trailing against his hip. Dorian pressed against him, a swath of heat nearly consuming him when they were finally close.

Dorian opened his mouth, tongue delving deeper, eager to drink in the soft sounds tumbling seemingly unnoticed from Bastien’s lips. The scent of him filled his nostrils and clouded his thoughts, all warmth and earth, the scent of horse exchanged for some subtle cologne that made his mouth water. He slipped his fingers beneath the clasp at Bastien’s throat, tracing his fingers along his jaw before flicking the collar open. The moment it was, his lips rushed to taste the exposed flesh, nipping and kissing down the strong column of his throat as it was exposed. He pulled the sash free, letting it fall with a hiss to the floor, and, removing the final buckle, pushed the coat from Bastien’s shoulders. He didn’t even hear it land; Bastien was already on him again.

He lifted Dorian into his arms and strong legs came around his waist, pulling him closer as fingers tangled into his hair, destroying Josephine’s efforts to keep it neat. He crossed the room and went to lower Dorian on the soft comforter, but Dorian would not release his hold. Bastien turned and laughed breathlessly, “Do you want to lie on the bed or not?”

Dorian wanted to reply, he really did. But the freakish strength Bastien used to haul him up and across the room, the realization of how easily Bastien could lift and toss him around, had stolen the last of his rational thought. He shifted his legs and leaned forward, toppling them both onto the soft mattress below. Bastien grunted, but any comments were quickly swallowed up by Dorian’s greedy lips. Calloused hands roamed freely against his skin and Dorian shuddered, his skin pricking with the sensation. He wedged his hands beneath Bastien’s tunic and, in a quick and forceful motion, wrenched it free of his arms and tossed it off the bed. Bastien barely had time to register the act before Dorian’s mouth was against his collar bone and tracing over his chest.

Bastien was certain that if Dorian wasn’t weighing him down he would be floating off. His skin positively burned everywhere Dorian touched, everywhere his hands slipped, and everywhere his lips brushed. Something in him knew that this was it, and that everything had crested to this moment… something in him shrank back. Dorian slowed his attentions, recalled by the sudden stall of Bastien’s hands against his chest and back. He lifted his head and smiled up at Bastien, who held his gaze briefly before flicking away. 

“Bastien.” Dorian’s voice was gentle, the hand against Bastien’s cheek even more so. “Talk to me.”

“I--… I don’t think I can…” He huffed out a laugh, “Not properly, anyway…”

Dorian slid up beside him, entwining their legs and propping himself up on his elbow. He knew eventually this moment was going to come. He desperately hoped he wasn’t about to be turned away, certain his genitals would fall off in protest if he was. Yet still… “If you want to stop—“

“Maker, no.” Bastien blurted, then blushed impossibly darker and looked away, as embarrassed by his outburst as Dorian was delighted by it. “I just… it sounds foolish but I’m nervous.”

Dorian shook his head and frowned, “It’s not foolish at all. And I don’t want this to be something you regret.”

“Impossible.” Bastien looked Dorian right in the eyes as he said this and Dorian felt a chill race up his spine at the sudden presence of such conviction. He swallowed and pressed on.

“If you’re sure,” his voice shook and he cleared his throat once more, “How about I take the lead, and you just keep making those wonderful sounds, hm?” Bastien was about to speak when Dorian continued: “Don’t you want to see why my tongue deserves so much credit?”

Bastien blushed darker and covered his mouth, twitching against Dorian’s leg in response. Dorian gently pushed his hand away and reclaimed his mouth, but only for a moment, only long enough for Bastien to relax against him once more. He would admit it to no one, but he was nervous too. He’d never done anything like this before, at least not that he’d known, and his own first wasn’t a good reference point. Everything he would do involved a large measure of observation, any sign that Bastien wanted to stop and he would, albeit grudgingly. He hoped he would have the willpower.

His lips trailed over his jaw, down his throat, across his chest, pausing to kiss gently at his abdomen, turning to nip and lick along his hip, and tracing the v of muscle down lower until he reached the hem of Bastien’s pants. He began to unlace them, looking up at Bastien as he did. Bastien seemed to be thinking rather hard at what exactly was going on, as if he was trying to figure it out but didn’t quite have the mental capacity in his current situation. Dorian pulled his trousers lower, taking his underclothes with it, allowing for Bastien to spring free on an audible gasp.

Bastien’s whole world went white as those perfect, soft, warm lips brushed against him, slowly, torturously moving up to the head before engulfing him in a wet heat, tearing a whimper past his lips. Bastien bucked forward, his entire focus centered on Dorian’s skilled tongue as it flicked and twisted. A firm hand pressed against his hip, grounding him and Bastien clearly got the message: _If I stay still, he will keep going._ He twisted a hand in his hair and covered his mouth, embarrassed by all the strange and mewling noises he couldn’t stop making.

Dorian, though disappointed by the sudden interruption of Bastien’s whimpers, what he considered the highest praise you could earn in a bedroom, was somewhat relieved by it. He had been so wound up by their brief little trysts and sporadic kisses he was left hard and ready at the slightest provocation, not to mention his current self preparations he would someday need to teach Bastien. At the rate his body was reacting he was nearly certain he would get off on the sounds and feel of Bastien alone. And from the hazy look on Bastien’s face he wasn’t much better off. But they needed to cross this hurdle tonight; otherwise it may not happen for much longer than Dorian was willing to accept. Reluctantly, he released Bastien, who sagged back against the bed panting, his entire body covered in a blush and a fine sheen of sweat.

 It was such a wonderfully lewd display that Dorian nearly forgot why he let go in the first place. Shaking his head in an attempt to collect himself, he stumbled over towards his bag, removing a small vial he’d thankfully brought just in case. He was so very delighted he would get to use it this trip. He popped the cork and, after checking with a look from Bastien who readily agreed, applied a few drops to the head, tracing his hand over it and stroking him. Bastien’s eyes struggled to stay open as Dorian’s palm worked more of the slick over every last inch of him, blinking fully open when he stopped and the bed began to shift.

Dorian paused, braced over Bastien, more than ready and eager to sink down. He locked eyes with Bastien and swallowed, trying to keep his expression light. “Last chance to back out, I promise I—“

“Dorian, please.” Bastien panted, reaching a hand to brush along Dorian’s thigh, “I want this with you.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. Gripping Bastien, he rubbed him against his entrance, smearing the slick and causing Bastien’s fingers to dig into his thighs in a way that would certainly leave a delightful bruise in the morning. Slowly, he lowered himself, watching Bastien’s expression, waiting for any signs of second guessing or discomfort. Or at least, he tried to. His eyes kept fluttering closed as ripples of pleasure radiated up his spine.  He would definitely be sore in the morning, but it was going to be so worth it.

Finally, their hips pressed together and Dorian froze a moment, trying to catch his breath despite the little shivers coursing through his skin. He turned a half lidded gaze on Bastien and paused. Bastien’s eyes were slammed shut, his jaw clenched, his entire frame rigid.

“Bastien?” He was answered with a sharp exhale, “Are you alright?”

Bastien nodded furiously, keeping his eyes closed a moment longer before huffing out a sigh. “I…. If I move… I’m afraid I’ll... I don’t want to hurt you.”

Dorian laughed softly, leaning forward to kiss his forehead gently, rolling his hips as he spoke, “Just relax.”

Bastien moaned and did his best to obey, but his body seemed to have a mind of its own, bucking his hips forward in random intervals despite his efforts to remain still. Dorian’s hands braced on Bastien’s chest, stretching himself out as he raised and lowered his hips in a slow, steady rhythm, his eyes half closed but watching Bastien. It all felt so amazing, so perfect, so right that Bastien regretted waiting so long, and as the morning sun peeked through the windows, casting soft light against Dorian’s tanned features, Bastien saw his restraint, saw his effort to make Bastien happy. He released a thigh and brushed his thumb along Dorian’s face, smiling as those beautiful grey eyes fluttered closed and those perfect lips brushed his palm. He pulled Dorian down to face him, leaning forward to press their lips together.

It was clumsy, it was sloppy, it was more than a bit awkward to manage, but the kiss conveyed so much between them, Bastien’s heart thudded heavily in his chest. Makers breath but he loved this man. Keeping his hand on the back of Dorian’s head, he pressed their foreheads together and looked Dorian in the eye as best he could.

“I love you so much.” He whispered and Dorian’s eyes fluttered shut, his body halting in its motions.

“I love you as well, Amatus.” Dorian’s words were soft but clear, adding to the blush already on his cheeks. His eyes slammed shut on a moan as Bastien’s hand gripped him, rubbing his thumb in firm circles over his seeping tip. His hips stuttered a moment before picking up the pace, his eyes still locked with Bastien’s, breaths coming in short, ragged pants to brush against his face. Bastien began to thrust with him, trying to keep pace with Dorian, struggle apparent on his features.

He seemed to want to speak, but Dorian simply nodded, knowing they were both close. Dorian’s lips collided with Bastien’s, delving deep as he found his release, as he felt Bastien follow immediately after, drinking down his cries. Their hearts still hammering, they relaxed against the heavy comforter, the light of dawn now reflecting through the room. Bastien’s arms curled tightly around Dorian, his head tucked into the crook of his neck as they both struggled to slow their breathing.

“I love you.” Bastien panted once more, and Dorian smiled, tilting his head to press a kiss to his damp chest.

“Amatus…” Dorian nearly wept. This was a first for both of them, first ever for Bastien, and a first for Dorian to lay with a man he really and truly loved and who loved him just as much in return. He felt safe, he felt warmed through and through, and as time continued to pass, he felt rather sticky and gross. Bastien seemed to read his mind.

“I don’t suppose that bath is still warm…” Bastien murmured, grinning down at the man sprawled across his chest, wishing they could lie like this all day but it was getting a bit uncomfortable and itchy. Dorian laughed outright, and Bastien grinned wider.

“No, though I suppose I could fix that.” Dorian smirked, fire licking against his fingers.

A quick, sleepy bath and good number of smiles and lazy kisses later, the two wound themselves up in the cool silk sheets, limbs entwined as their mutual exhaustion overtook them, the sun well over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me... so impossibly long to write and I'm still not happy with it. Stupid sweet, innocent Bastien. Stupid staying in character.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed it!   
> (If you see any glaring flaws, please let me know)


	57. Solace

Bastien stretched his arms high over his head with an audible pop. He’d been sitting on this bench for hours, pleased with the sudden stillness of his life as they investigated Corypheus’ next move. He was by no means on vacation, the stack of finally read and sorted papers beside him could attest to that. Not to mention the constant influx of judgments and dignitaries to contend with. But this in itself seemed so simple he couldn’t help but feel relaxed in the early summer sunlight filtering into Skyhold’s garden. The ivy danced about in the breeze, trees swaying lazily and he set his sketchpad to the side with a wide yawn. He fell back against the bench, lying sideways against it and tossing his leg over the back. Surely no one would fault him for a nap in the sun?

A shadow fell over his eyes and he opened them just in time to see Dorian inches from him, pressing their lips together. He faltered for a moment, regaining himself quickly and pressing the back of Dorian’s head to his, refusing to let go even when the other man tried to pull away. He didn’t let go until Dorian’s fingers dug into his sides, breaking apart with a laugh.

“Sorry, I was startled.” He grinned. He was so unbelievably happy it almost felt too good to be true, too good to last. But even after spending the night together at the winter palace, nothing had really changed between them. If anything, they’d grown closer. Now, Dorian automatically retired to Bastien’s chambers instead of his own, or Bastien would follow him to his, but they never slept alone. His smile broadened, this thing between them was real, and it was his, Dorian was his.

“I never thought I’d find you dozing off in the garden.” Dorian grinned, moving to sit beside him as he sat up on the bench. “I didn’t think you ever took breaks.”

“Well, it’s a small one. I have other things I…. probably should be doing instead but it’s actually somewhat warm today.” Bastien leaned back, bracing his arms on the back of the bench and turned his face to the sun, eyes falling closed.

“Warm?” Dorian scoffed, “Remind me to take you to Minrathos.”

“I will.” Bastien grinned, pressing a kiss against Dorian’s hair before falling into a comfortable silence. Dorian leaned into him, bracing his head on his shoulder in a picture of relaxation he never thought they’d have. Bastien’s breathing grew steady, his head resting against Dorian’s as he slept. Dorian smiled, making an effort to sit perfectly still. Despite the somewhat calmer atmosphere of Skyhold and the lack of trips beyond its walls, Bastien was still kept busy well past sunset and was up with the sun nearly every morning. If taking a nap on Dorian’s head was how he wanted to spend his precious break, Dorian would certainly not deprive him of that.

He was honestly grateful when Bastien started wake, his neck had begun to cramp. Bastien looked dazed for a moment before settling on Dorian, pressing their foreheads together before standing. “Come on, there’s something I wanted to show you.”

Dorian sighed and stood, allowing himself to be led through the maze of Skyhold hand in hand. He had no idea where they were going, and frankly he didn’t care. It wasn’t the crowded trader docks of Minrathos, but this was the closest to walking hand in hand with his Amatus in public as he’d ever come. He colored slightly at the unwitting resurgence of the word, as well as Bastien’s lack of questioning into its meaning, but he would have to analyze that thought at a later time. For now, Bastien had stopped them before a door, turning to smile at Dorian.

“Close your eyes.”

“This again?” Dorian laughed and closed his eyes compliantly. He heard Bastien clear his throat and a door opened, creaking on its hinges. The room smelled a bit musty, like the door hadn’t been opened in a century. Warm hands braced on his shoulders, guiding him forward. Their footsteps echoed hollow in what sounded like a hallway, muffled by a thick carpet. The room smelled fresher the further he traveled, light dancing behind his eyelids, growing brighter as he advanced. His mind began to wander, to candle lit rooms and soft beds, of entwined legs and roaming hands.

“Ok, you can open them now.” The warm hands slipped off his shoulders and he opened his eyes.

Candles adorned a few sconces, a large, thick candle providing most of the light from the center of the room where it rested on a desk. The desk was primarily hidden by a massive tome that probably weighed as much as Dorian, open to some strange script he couldn’t understand. He glanced around; the small room was covered roof to floor in books. The shelves overflowed to the floors, several books stacked in neat piles before them, some encircling the desk. A large vase sat off to the side crammed full of Embrium, scenting the cramped space and overpowering the must. A small cobweb stretched between one of the shelves and Bastien seemed to notice at the same time, rushing over and snatching it up with his hand, dusting it away with his sleeve.

“Sorry.” He murmured, resuming his place behind Dorian, dusting the cobwebs off on his pants.

Dorian was dumbfounded, speechless, which was something that _never_ happened- or, at least, not before Bastien had entered his life. He glanced around the room chock full of books holding so many mysteries, just waiting for his eyes to take them in, for his mind to tear them apart and discover their deepest secrets. He turned to Bastien, the man was bouncing on his heels, wringing his hands, a silly and hopeful smile on his face as he watched Dorian.

“I don’t know what to say.” Dorian murmured, his heart felt like someone was squeezing it.

“They actually uncovered it a while back, but I wanted to get it cleaned and… fresher before I brought you down here.” Bastien grinned, “Since there isn’t a lot going on, I was hoping it would entertain you until we left for the Arbor Wilds.”

Dorian smirked and pulled a book from the shelf, flipping to a random page before smirking up at Bastien, “I could think of other ways to keep me entertained.”

Bastien colored and cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “As much as I would… love to, I promised Cullen I’d help him with a few shield exercises this afternoon.”

Dorian smiled and sighed dramatically, “Very well.”

Bastien kissed his forehead gently before turning and rushing out the door towards the training yard. Dorian stared at the now closed door for a while before falling into the chair, cracking open one of the many books. He smiled, feeling foolish, but he couldn’t help but feel the shift between them. It was becoming so… domestic, and he was surprised how much he enjoyed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff before shit hits the fan.


	58. Sunsets in Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will probably look familiar, its a fic I wrote for a commission. Its another fluff chapter. The next few... hurt. Alot.
> 
> If someone knows how to attach photos to the tops, please tell me lol   
> Tumblr link: https://68.media.tumblr.com/5b28e70af81928dbe2d75889d7f57446/tumblr_o52zw2HLQ51uq52m5o1_540.jpg

Dorian pulled his cloak tighter around him as the mountain air blasted over the ramparts, dusting snowflakes against his mustache only to melt with his breaths. He hated the cold more than anything, but watching the sun as it set through the mountains was worth it. The way the rich rusted gold rays were broken to shadow by the jagged peaks, the way the mist of snow from a heavy gust caught the light to sparkle and dance, the way the sun hung fat and lazy, as if cradled between the strong, loving arms of the mountain peaks.

He smiled at himself. He’d become more of a romantic than usual, a transformation he could blame almost solely on Bastien. The man was never shy of his affections since learning Dorian’s wish to be exposed, and frequented his alcove as often as possible heedless of his own schedule, regardless on if he had Inquisition agents or advisers in tow, and despite the more risqué things they had already done he still blushed each time. And he cherished it, because the blush was for him, simply because he was there, simply because they had touched. He felt the warmth creep to his cheeks, spread through his chest, warming his limbs despite the biting wind, and he smiled wider. He was madly in love with this man. This sweet, charming, passionate man had swept him off his feet so easily and quickly his head was still spinning, and with each kind or thoughtful gesture, each kiss, each night spent together, it only spun faster. He hoped it would never stop. He knew it would grow more difficult, at least in the coming days. They were to leave for the Arbor Wilds in the morning and who knew what trials would await them there. Dorian felt a bit on edge, despite the near silence around him. He shivered.

Warm, strong arms wrapped around him, hugging his waist tightly to pull him against a solid frame. He leaned into the touch, eager for the warmth and comfort as Bastien rested his cheek against Dorian’s hair. He wasn’t much taller than Dorian, only by a few inches, but it made them fit so perfectly together, Dorian’s back pressing firmly against Bastien’s chest, his arms resting perfectly against his waist.

 “I was wondering where you wandered off to.” He teased, nuzzling behind Dorian’s ear and peppering his neck with gentle kisses. Dorian’s smile softened.

 “Just watching the sunset,” He shivered, “I’ll be out of this blasted cold soon enough.”

The arms fell away for just a moment, and he felt the weight of a second, heavier coat draped over his shoulders, thick enough to keep out the cold, heavy enough not to shift as the wind tried its damndest to pull it open. He grinned as the arms wrapped around his waist once more, as Bastien’s head came to rest on his shoulder, an eyebrow quirked and a teasing smirk playing at his lips as the deceptively warm sunlight played on his features.

 “Now we can hide here a little longer.” Bastien smiled, pressing his freezing cold nose to Dorian’s slightly warmer cheek.

 “AH!” Dorian flailed, trying to pull away but the arms around his waist hugged him tighter still. “Your nose is freezing!”

He tried his best to sound irritated, but it faltered at the charming grin on Bastien’s face, the soft expression in his eyes, the slightest blush on his cheeks and he sighed. He pulled Bastien’s now cold hands into the warmth of the cloak and held them in his, wrapped around his waist, leaning back to brace himself against Bastien. He turned his head and pressed his forehead to the other man’s, a gesture Bastien himself usually initiated but was always appreciated. He saw the now blurred lines of Bastien’s mouth curl in to a happy grin and he couldn’t help but mimic the gesture. He was so sickeningly in love, and knew without a doubt that Bastien couldn’t be more in love with him in return. It was  _real._  It was  _his._

“So…I’ve been meaning to ask, but…” Bastien hesitated. A nudge from Dorian bade him continue, “What does ‘Amatus’ mean?”

Dorian almost choked at the sudden question. Clearing his throat, he struggled against the blush as he did his best to try and explain without making himself sound syrupy… then sighed, “To put it simply, it’s a term of endearment.”

“Really?” Bastien’s tone made Dorian raise an eyebrow, “Cause when I asked Bull—“

“You what?” Dorian’s tone dropped and his cheeks burned.

“The first time you said it.” Bastien nuzzled into Dorian’s neck. “I would have asked you but… I didn’t think you would tell me.”

“Oh? And what did he say?” Dorian scoffed, bracing himself, ignoring the truth to Bastien’s words. He wouldn’t have told him, he would have said it meant ‘lover’ or something less heartfelt, something cheap.

“ _Beloved.”_ Bastien whispered in his ear before nuzzling into his hair and Dorian shivered. “My Amatus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its a double update since I'm starting back in classes this week and don't know how much posting/writing time I'll get! <3 Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos!


	59. The Wilds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shits about to get rough guys.

Bastien couldn’t stop gaping as his mare guided them along the path behind Cullen. He could easily be riding across those roots, those branches, along that tree fungus, all of them were large enough to support his horse. The birds were loud and frequent in their calls, fluttering up from a bush and startling his horse every now and then. Overall, the trek was beautiful, the ruins, the waterfalls, the plants, the animals, the Wilds seemed like a paradise. Bastien struggled to keep in mind all off the terrible stories about this place, all the frightful rumors, but it was so hard to believe them now that he was here. Maybe people didn’t come back because they simply got lost?

“Careful, if you leave your mouth open, a bug may fly in.” Cullen teased and Bastien snapped it shut.

They crested a rise and the camp lay before them, all of their allies standing in the same ground, Bastien was awestruck. They made an impressive, if a bit destructive sight. He saw the shimmering gold and blue of the empress’ gown, briefly wondering why she wasn’t wearing armor in a war zone before dismounting in front of what was to be his tent. He tied his mare loosely the post, she wouldn’t leave anyway, and if this went sideways, he wanted her to be able to escape. He barely had the chance to catch his breath when the clatter of swords took everyone’s attention. The battle had begun, and it wouldn’t wait for them to rest.

He gathered his party, making sure they had Dagna’s rune with them, and set forth, cutting their way through the red templar forces as they made their way to the temple. The elves were a surprise. Their pale skin, long limbs and extensive tattoos caught him off guard. He tried to speak with them, but it was clear that this was their forest, and they were not keen on visitors. He tried to ask Solas about them, or even Morrigan, but the best he received were vague comments and suspicions. They would find out the truth soon enough.

They paused at the base of a massive stone wolf resting with its twin before a door, both covered in birds despite the recent violent skirmish. They each downed a much needed potion and Bastien and Dorian each gave the other a solid once over, looking for any extensive damage. Content that neither were injured, they crept through the far end of the hall, crouching low at the sound of voices. Just below, the elves were squaring off against Sampson, and shortly after, the deep, reverberating voice of Corypheus sounded. Bastien tensed, his mark flickering. They’d known he was coming, they’d known they would likely see him, but still…

 _Wait…the Well of Sorrows?_ He looked to Morrigan, who shrugged. _What on earth_ – He ducked back down quickly, dragging Dorian with him as the statues exploded, turning everything around them to dust and ash and killing all below. They froze, breath caught in their throats, as they waited for something, anything else to happen. _Was that…it?_ Had Corypheus been defeated? It didn’t seem possible.

 They made their way slowly down the steps towards the bridge, checking the bodies, but there was no remnant of Corypheus.

“Well that was rather anti-climactic…” Dorian muttered, turning over a red templar. Bastien motioned him forward, wanting to keep him close as they neared the bridge. In the distance, Bastien made out Sampson, who grinned at them before disappearing into the fortress. He was still trying to piece it all together when something shifted behind them, growling and moaning. He pivoted on his heel as the corpse began to rise.

“Dorian please tell me that’s yours.” Even as he spoke, he retreated, keeping Dorian behind him and his now ready shield.

“Unfortunately not…” Dorian shook his head, taking several steps back when the warden’s blood began showering from his mouth. An all too familiar taloned hand erupted from the muck and Bastien turned, pushing his group forward.

“Across the bridge! Now!” He shouted, keeping himself at the back of the pack as the group sprinted away from the reforming Corypheus, the roar of the archdemon only fueling them faster. He flew back as the dragons attack impacted with the door, but it held shut, shimmering in a soft light before falling silent. He tried the door, but it wouldn’t budge. For better or worse, nothing was getting through that door.

Assuring himself no one was harmed, Bastien glanced at the long hallway leading to a flight of descending stairs.  “Well, I guess we go deeper…”

\--

“What I don’t understand,” Dorian waved his free hand in the air as he swallowed his mouthful of cheese, “Is how on earth that happened. Perhaps he cast a spell before approaching? Perhaps it was blood magic? But then how—“

“Does it truly matter?” Cassandra snapped, none too pleased at Corypheus’ newest trick. They sat at the base of a grand staircase, covered in ivy and illuminated with the afternoon sunlight. It was a beautiful place for a break. 

“Cassandra is right,” Solas added, “The point is that we know now that he can jump from a host. I would propose that his darkspawn nature, as well as the blight present within the grey wardens allows him to transfer, and it is unlikely he could pick a random host.”

In the distance, a gong was heard, followed by the distant curses of Bastien as he messed up on yet another puzzle.

“Keep it up, Amatus, we are almost there!” Dorian called, taking another drink from the canteen before muttering, “I hope.”

“We should be, I believe we are nearing the entrance.” Morrigan stated calmly, pacing around the room to examine different statues, though she could have also been avoiding the inevitable questions. Dorian was a bit surprised that Solas wasn’t doing the same, though the man seemed fairly at ease here. Perhaps he’d been here in the fade? Dorian wasn’t sure how the whole Somniari thing really worked, so he couldn’t truly be sure.

A chime sounded, and Bastien’s shout of joy echoed off the walls. Up the stairs, the door shimmered, unlocking. He ran back to the group, cheeks flushed from running back and forth in circles to complete the trials and he snatched up the canteen, downing half its contents before finishing his sandwich in three bites. He motioned for them to continue, mouth still stuffed with food. Things were progressing nicely, though he was worried about Samson’s progress. How much further ahead was he? They would have to hurry, though the ancient elves were not going to make it easy for them, if the row of arrows pointed to their backs was any hint. He allowed Dorian time to ask his questions, allowed him to indulge his intrigue about the truth behind the true fall of Arlathan, while he tried to decide what to say.

“Please, I mean you no harm, nor do I wish to steal from your temple. I want to stop the man who is barging his way forward, as well as his master. Let us pass to deal with them, then we will leave, I swear it.” Bastien took a step towards Abelas, palms up and supplicating. They _really_ didn’t have time for this, but this bloodshed could be avoided.

“Your words… seem genuine.” He said after a pause. Bastien let out a sigh of relief as the elf continued, “You have followed the rites and shown respect to our temple, if these trespassers are enemies of yours, we shall aid you in destroying them. But I will not see the well desecrated, even if I have to destroy it myself.”

He accepted the offer readily, much to Morrigan’s dismay as she rushed forth. Unable to pursue, he turned, following the old mage through the ornate back pathways towards the Well of Sorrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer gave me a f***ing heart attack. It restarted then pulled up a like... 6mo old version of this fic and I was like... "You did not.... no... please no no no nono---oh thank goodness there it is." 
> 
> I think I'm like... 5 years older for it. 
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading! I'm sorry for what the next few chapters will bring! <3


	60. Fatal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Definitely going to be a rough chapter. Also, there is a companion fic to explain what happens to....someone... I will start posting it soon!

Samson, as well as a small group of templars, waited for them near the well of sorrows, slowly killing the remaining elves in their path. Bastien shouted to them, racing down the stairs to try and stop them, when Samson turned a grin on him.

“Ah, Inquisitor, we were beginning to think you wouldn’t make it.” He grinned, gesturing to a large red templar in the process of snapping an elf’s neck. Bastien winced.

“Inquisitor!” Behind him, he heard the clatter of armor, turning to see Cullen and a few Inquisition soldiers and scouts in tow. They must have come through the temple, had the elves let them through? Or had the red templar assault left a different opening?

“Cullen.” He nodded, grateful he was. He passed Dagna’s rune to Cullen, “I think you should be the one to do the honors.”

“How touching, two reunions and such consideration,” Bastien’s brow furrowed, “Oh, that’s right, I nearly forgot.”

He snapped his fingers and the massive templar turned, skin glowing sickly red and crystals protruding from his armor, though he still looked very much human.

Bastien’s heart thundered in his ears as he took in the features, the scars, the eyes now mutated from the once deep blue. He was so much larger, taller than Bastien remembered. He staggered backwards, only staying upright with the combined efforts of Cassandra and Dorian. The templar grinned wickedly, clenching and relaxing his fists as he stepped forward.

“Derrick… how?” Bastien blinked back tears, swallowing hard, teeth clenching as he regained his footing, “How could you? After what they did to Jean…. How could you!?”

He shouted, shaking off Dorian and Cassandra to step forward, sword and shield in hand as his vision swam. The world around him narrowed to Derrick’s no longer smiling face.

“ _You think to scold me_ , _little brother?_ ” Derrick hissed, his sharp teeth clenching and grinding, his voice scraping, “ _After what you have destroyed, you are no better. Or did you forget Eloren so quickly?”_

“Of course not!” Bastien shouted, but he had. He’d moved on, past his grief for Jean, though it still hurt, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought of Eloren. “I tried to… I tried-”

“ _Lies.”_ Derrick hissed, drawing his broadsword from his back, moving quickly towards him. “ _I will see you suffer_.”

And with that, he lunged, but not towards Bastien, his aim was towards Dorian a few feet away. Bastien turned on his heel, keeping his shield up as he dove, bearing the brunt of the attack against his shoulder with a grunt.

“ _I’ve found your weakness, little brother._ ” Derrick purred, lifting a hand towards Dorian. Flames licked at the edge and Bastien barely managed to turn in time, grunting as the flames burned his shoulder and singed his hair as he covered Dorian. 

“Dorian, get clear!” He shouted, this would be a very short, one sided fight if his brother kept his aim on Dorian. He lunged with his shield, keeping Derrick’s attention on him just long enough for Dorian to get a few feet away before arcing his sword around. It grazed against Derrick’s armor in a shower of sparks, barely scratching the metal plate. Derrick was impossibly strong with his Lyrium, and when his sword swung around to connect with his shield, Bastien was thrown back into a pillar, the wind exploding from his lungs. Bastien tried to suck in air as the slowly blurring figure of Derrick approached. He felt the warm slide of Dorian’s barrier and looked up to see him standing at the edge of an outcropping, out of range of Derrick’s sword. A quick glance showed Cullen and his companions locked in battle with Samson and the other red templars, leaving him and Derrick to fight one on one.

“I’m sorry.” He shouted, near breathless as he struggled back to his feet with the aid of his sword, his ribs were screaming. “I wasn’t there for you when Jean died, I wasn’t there for you when Eloren died…”

“ _Shut up_.” Derrick roared, slamming into Bastien with his shoulder and pressing him into the wall. Bastien managed to get his shield up in time to keep the spikes of red lyrium from digging into his chest, but it still hurt like hell. His sword came around once more, catching on flesh at Derrick’s side. He couldn’t keep treating this monster like it was his brother, he would be killed, Dorian would be killed, Maker they all may be killed. This wasn’t Derrick, this was a shadow of a man he once knew, twisted and corrupted with Lyrium...But he still looked so much like Derrick.  _Dorian..._

Bracing a foot against the wall and pushed off with his shield, driving Derrick back a few stumbling feet on a roar. He didn’t give him time to regain his footing before Bastien was on him, slamming his shield into his chest and driving him back, further away from Dorian and his friends, lashing out with his sword in short, swift motions, several finding purchase between the slats of metal plate to come away in a red spray of blood. He was winning.

Derrick roared, and a red glow erupted around him, tossing Bastien away like a doll to tumble to the ground several feet away. He struggled to his feet, looking up in time to see Derrick smiling down at him, his eyes wide and manic as spikes slowly consumed his body, as he slowly shifted away from that familiar face.

“ _You are in so much trouble, baby brother.”_ He laughed a moment before his features twisted in rage. _“Die._ ” He lifted his sword over his head as Bastien struggled to his feet, his vision swaying from his impact with the stone. He felt the blood draining from his limbs, felt it dripping down his neck from the back of his head. Derrick’s grin returned, his entire form radiating, the blood hissing as it hit the ground. He brought his sword straight down, meaning to plunge it into Bastien’s neck. He couldn’t raise his arm, couldn’t get his shield up in time, but a spray of sparks rained down as Derrick’s sword made contact with another shield held by a familiar flash of red.

“Cullen!” Bastien wheezed, but didn’t have time to continue, to warn him away before Derricks large hand reached forward, tearing Cullen’s shield away. Derrick followed Cullen’s path as he was wrenched to the side, swinging his sword down to tear through armor and flesh, sending Cullen flying with a spray of blood over the nearby waterfall, quickly disappearing. Bastien’s shout echoed in the space and Dorian snapped out of his shock, the whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion. The amount of blood left behind was terrifying, even if Cullen survived the fall… Dorian rushed to the edge, despite the dangers, and cast a healing barrier over Cullen’s rapidly disappearing form. He would just have to hope that was enough.

A sharp impact slammed Dorian to the ground, blood dripping past his face as heat licked around them. A scream pierced his ear and he winced against the sudden barrage of pain, trying to catch his breath though the flames devoured the air around them. When it finally abated, the weight lifted, and the entire right half Bastien’s face was seared raw, his armor scorched. Bastien didn’t pause, turning quickly and standing, with a slight sway, to face Derrick.

“ _You will not touch him_.” Bastien growled low, angling his sword down over his shield. Derrick killed Cullen, he was trying to kill Dorian, it was time to end this even if he died in the process. _Dorian has to live_. He tossed his shield to the side, he never could beat him in strength, but he could in speed. He spat the heavy mouthful of blood onto the stones, trying to ignore the growing fatigue in his limbs. Something was bleeding quickly; he was running out of time.

Derrick laughed, mouth splitting into a grin as the lyrium grew with his form to tower over them, his voice rumbling and mutated and gestured to the area around them, “ _This is all your fault, sweet baby Bastien.”_

Bastien charged forward, racing up the stairs to leap from an outcropping, landing on Derrick’s back before he had time to turn. His sword rose high in the air before plunging  down into his brother’s neck, breaking through crystal. Nested to the hilt, Bastien twisted sharply. The beast that was once his brother screamed out in pain, dropping to his knees as blood filled what remained of his lungs. Bastien raised the sword once more, bringing it quickly across Derrick’s throat, opening it to a wide red grin as blood sprayed forth and hissed against the stone. Derrick’s mouth twitched in a smile before going slack, collapsing fully to the ground at Bastien’s feet.

Bastien’s chest heaved, his sword dripping in blood. The fight was over. He stepped past his brother’s corpse and began to fall. Dorian rushed to his side, keeping him from collapsing to the ground, slowing his descent to his knees. Tears flowed freely down his burned and battered face as he knelt, his eyes locked on his brother’s corpse. Dorian held him close, flooding him with what little healing magic he had, the fight around them had ended. Solas had rushed to the top of the steps alongside Cassandra, arguing with Abelas undoubtedly about the well, the rest of the Inquisition had Samson in custody, the fight was truly over.

“Come on, Amatus, we cannot rest just yet.” He helped Bastien to his feet, his uninjured eye distant as Dorian half carried him up the stairs. Dorian hated the expression, the utter defeat, as Bastien’s eyes flicked first to his brother’s corpse, then to the waterfall Cullen had disappeared over. He had no idea what to say, if there was anything he could say, that would ease his pain. As they crested the stairs and the full force of the bickering reached his ears, he realized there was one thing he could do to help. Lowering Bastien to sit on a stone a few feet from the pool, Dorian whirled on the rest of the party.

“We don’t have time to bicker over who _deserves_ it, Bastien is hurt and Cullen is likely dead, we _NEED_ to get back to Skyhold --quickly.” Dorian snapped. Morrigan looking like she was about to disagree but a sharp look from Dorian stopped her for a moment.

“We cannot allow the well to fall into the wrong hands.” She spoke with barely controlled anger, and Dorian saw her eyes continuously flicking towards the well, she wanted it bad.

“And you believe you are the best candidate?” Solas scoffed, shaking his head, “I will not allow it.”

“It is not your choice to make, I have come this far, I led you all here and I will drink from the well.” Morrigan snapped, turning towards it.

“Yes, you led us here for a mirror, not a well.” Solas spoke quickly, blocking her path.

Dorian sighed and crossed his arms. He couldn’t even help Bastien with this. He was sure Bastien would know exactly what to do. He would appeal to their sensibilities; he would know what decision to make.

“What… will become of Keiran?” A low voice asked from behind him.  Armor clanked as Bastien struggled to stand. “You would leave him alone?”

Bastien turned to face Morrigan, the side of his face that wasn’t severely burned was covered in ugly bruises, and the uninjured skin was pallid. He was not doing well, he needed extensive healing. Solas seemed to catch on at the same time, taking a few steps towards the inquisitor before Bastien lost his strength and collapsed, falling towards the well.

Dorian would be damned if he would lose him like this. He grabbed his shoulder and struggled to hold him up and out of the water, extremely grateful when Solas appeared to aid him. They shifted him back onto his stone and, as Solas was applying his healing magic to Bastien’s stomach to stem the worst of the internal bleeding, a large wave crested over them. Morrigan had seized the distraction to dive into the well, taking in its power as the water disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Morrigan grinned, eyes closed as the magic rippled over her skin. But her reverie didn’t last long.

A blood curdling roar echoed in the space as Corypheus entered the cavern. They needed to get out of there. Dorian looked down at Bastien, his eyes more distant than before, his lips nearly white. How were they going to get him out of there? How could they possibly mov him, let alone get him to safety? He clenched his teeth and his eyes burned, he couldn’t lose him like this, he couldn’t! He wouldn’t! A gentle hand on his shoulder recalled him, Solas gave his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“We have to carry him.” He said matter-of-factly, bending to lift Bastien by the shoulder. Dorian nodded and took the opposite side. The eluvian flickered, rippling blue to open.

“What about Cullen?” Bastien murmured, looking back towards the waterfall.

“Through the Eluvian!” Solas called, directing their steps that way. Cassandra hung back at the gate, refusing to leave until the Inquisitor made it through. “Seeker! Go! We will follow!”

“What about Cullen?” Bastien said a bit louder, struggling weakly against them. “We can’t leave him!”

Cassandra instead walked towards them, lifting Bastien’s feet and hauling them all forward faster. Corypheus was getting closer. Water erupted from the center of the well and, facing backwards, Bastien saw the woman glowing at its center. _Mythal? Is she real? Please... Cullen..._ The Eluvian shimmered around them as they entered the portal, returning them to the hall in Skyhold. The moment they returned, Bastien’s world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for any comments/kudos/bookmarks! You guys are lovely!


	61. Please

Dorian jolted awake when his head slipped from his shoulder. He jolted upright in his seat, panicked as he looked quickly around the room, but nothing had changed. The fire still cracked without care, the room was still just too warm, even for Dorian, but Bastien needed the extra heat. He was so vulnerable. Dorian shifted to look down at Bastien tucked safely beneath his heavy comforter. His face was covered in bandages, only his left eye fully visible beneath the gauze. Dorian knew that beneath the blanket his abdomen was wrapped with a heavy mass of bandages. Magic through the surface alone had not sufficed, forcing Solas to use more… barbaric methods to fix the damaged tissues.

Sylvie had just left, her soft sobs mingled with the scrape of the brush on the stone as she cleaned up the worst of the blood. Dorian understood her pain but was relieved when she’d left, allowing him to fall into his own grief. The worst of the tears had ceased, his eyes puffed and raw, his body numb. He hadn’t really slept since they returned two days ago, just brief moments where he lost the battle and dozed off on the bed just to jolt awake, he never felt rested - didn’t think he could until Bastien opened his eyes.

_Maker… Andraste… please don’t take him from me…_

He jolted when a hand pressed against his shoulder; he looked up quickly to see that Sylvie had returned with a small tray of food. Dorian turned his head, focusing on Bastien’s face, the flutter of his eyelashes as he dreamed. Dorian had no doubt they were nightmares, first Cullen then Derrick, it was understandable. He clenched Bastien’s hand as tight as he dared, the mark had been more active than usual as well, the previously small veins pushing out from the center seeming to grow thicker, pulsing with Bastien’s heart. How had he not noticed their growth?

“Messere, you need to eat.” Sylvie said gently, setting the tray on the bed beside his elbow. “He would want you to stay strong.”

Dorian wanted to snap at her, to snarl and ask how dare she speak for Bastien… But she was right. With a sharp sigh, he closed his eyes for a long moment.

“I know.” His voice was raw, “I just don’t have much appetite.”

Sylvie knelt beside him, placing a small, tattooed hand on Bastien’s uninjured shoulder, her gaze distant. Dorian had to remember he wasn’t the only one who cared for their Inquisitor, he wasn’t the only one hurting. But, though he knew it, he couldn’t help but want to throw everyone out, to lock the door and keep Bastien safe and alone with him.

“He will come back to us.” Dorian turned at the falter in her voice, her vibrant eyes shimmered with tears, but her features were stubborn, as if she could will him better. _If only…_ The door opened and Solas entered, eyes immediately flicking to Dorian’s face and falling to a scowl at the no doubt haggard appearance. It had been Solas’ idea to place Bastien in Dorian’s room instead of his own, not only was it a significantly quicker transport, but it left Bastien much closer to both the kitchens and Solas, just in case he needed anything or something happened.

“I will bring you some wine in a moment.” Sylvie stood, placing a small kiss against Dorian’s cheek before skirting around Solas and out the door.

“How is he?” Solas approached the bed, pressing his fingers against Bastien’s shoulder and closing his eyes, sending his mana into Bastien to look for any bleeding he may have missed, any signs of fever. Dorian watched his features intently, waiting for the slightest indication that things were going south, and let out a rush of air when Solas looked relieved. “Has he moved?”

“His hand keeps twitching when the mark flares, and I think he’s having a nightmare. Sometimes he settles down but…” Dorian shook his head, reaching forward to brush a strand of Bastien’s hair from his face. Solas frowned.

“Unfortunately I cannot help his dreams. I attempted to speak with him last night but I was attacked and had to flee.” Solas sighed, turning to mix another poultice.

“Attacked? By whom?” Dorian turned, he still didn’t understand the way Solas’ magic worked, it was like nothing he’d ever seen. Solas stayed silent a long moment, only the soft clink of the mortar and pestle sounding in the room.

“Bastien.” Solas murmured, turning with the poultice. “He saw me as a threat and his mind and body lashed out at me fairly quickly. It would have been dangerous to remain.” 

He moved to the head of the bed, taking great care as he removed the bandage covering Bastien’s burn. The skin beneath looked less charred, but still terrifying, deep red and angry flesh stretched across his forehead, down across his eye, wrapping around his jaw to trail against his neck before tapering off where his armor had protected him. His eyelashes and eyebrow had been scorched to nearly nothing, leaving curled, burnt hairs to replace once lush and silken ones. Dorian winced as Solas began removing the old poultice, his touch impossibly gentle against the frail tissue. 

“You acted quickly,” Solas said gently, “In all probability, there will not be much in the way of a scar so long as we can avoid infection.”

Dorian nodded, unable to speak. Bastien had only gotten that because of him, because he couldn’t get out of the way in time. Solas reapplied the bandage and was wiping his hands when Bastien stirred. Dorian sat erect in the chair, two days of next to no sleep falling to the adrenaline now coursing through him. _Please wake up, please._

Bastien’s eye fluttered open, and he winced. His hands shifted beneath the blankets, freezing when the burned shoulder offered a tight resistance. He lifted his marked hand to rub at his good eye, making for the other when Dorian caught it. Bastien’s eyes were still unfocused, as if he was not fully awake. Dorian was still elated, _he opened his eyes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for me to update!!! School is... intense. Thank you for sticking with me! I love the comments, they make me feel validated! Haha


	62. Awake

“Dorian…” Bastien murmured, his eye slipping closed. The skin on his face felt too tight, his entire body felt drained. Everything hurt. A soft hand circled his and something warm ran over his fist, cooling as it raced down his arm. He looked up once more and saw the top of Dorian’s head, his forehead pressed against Bastien’s hand, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed. He smirked as best he could towards the less injured side of his face. “Hey… stop that.”

Dorian looked up, into those warm green eyes, and he crumbled. They were dull with pain, the once vibrant skin still pallid, his lips far too pale and deep bruises stood stark against his cheek and below his eyes.  It took everything he had not to plunge under the sheets with Bastien and bury his face into his skin, to hear the steady pulse of his heart, to feel him warm and alive against him, but he couldn’t, Bastien was too hurt. He was so frail.  Bastien seemed to understand the feeling, rubbing his thumb over Dorian’s knuckles. He didn’t know what to say, neither of them did. So they sat in silence, for several long moments, before Dorian sat forward, pressing a soft kiss to the uninjured corner of Bastien’s lips.

“Good morning.” He murmured, resting his head on Bastien’s shoulder and letting out a shaky sigh.

“Is it morning?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.” Dorian’s laugh was weak. Bastien’s hand cupped his cheek and his brow twitched, lip turning into a frown.

“Dorian you need sleep… I’ll bet you haven’t eaten either.” Dorian looked away. His hair and moustache were a mess; his eyeliner nearly rubbed clean nothing left but faint smudges of black here and there around his bloodshot eyes. Bastien lifted the blankets, slowly, painfully, and carefully shifting closer to the wall to make room for Dorian. Against his better judgment, Dorian crawled into the bed, careful not to touch him until Bastien pulled him closer, his breath shallow and weak, the once strong, steady heart beating far too fast, his pulse thready. “Maker, that didn’t take much…”

His voice trailed off and he fell still, back into that deep sleep that frightened Dorian. But he was too tired, his concerns settled just enough, and he quickly fell fast asleep.

\---

He woke to Bastien trying to sit up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dorian growled, pressing down on his shoulder. Solas must have come back and healed him more, the wounds on his torso seemed significantly better, what bruises he could see had faded, though he was still far to pale.

“I need to check and see how the search for Cullen is going.” Bastien looked up, locking eyes with Dorian and he froze, seeing the change in Dorian’s expression, “Dorian. Tell me.”

Dorian didn’t want to. He wanted to protect Bastien from the truth, to let him keep that hope, but those green eyes didn’t stop boring into him and he caved.

“They’ve been scouting the area below the falls for the last few days, but they have not found him. One of Leliana’s people found a piece of his armor and…” Dorian swallowed hard, “They do not expect he survived his injury, let alone the fall.”

Bastien’s eye went hard. “No.” He went to sit up once more but Dorian held him down, pinning him to the bed. “No! I will not accept this! We have to find him!” He shouted and pushed Dorian’s hands from him, grabbing his shoulders to push him off as tears began to well in his eyes. He couldn’t lose Cullen. He’d already lost Jean and Eloren and now Derrick, why did the Maker have to take Cullen too? Hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t he sacrificed enough?

“Bastien please-“

“He can’t die for me!” Bastien snapped, his grip on Dorian’s shoulders tightening. “I can’t lose him like this!”

“And I won’t lose you!” Dorian snapped, stilling Bastien. “Do you…” He took a steadying breath, “Do you have any idea how close you were to death? How close you still are?”

Bastien’s hands relaxed their grip on his shoulders, rubbing small circles as Dorian began to tremble. “I will not let you go charging off on a search and rescue mission while the image of you…bleeding and-and… cut open…”

Dorian couldn’t continue and Bastien pulled him forward, cradling his head in his neck as the sobs wracked his body. Bastien felt so helpless. Cullen had sacrificed himself to save him, he couldn’t just forget. _But…_ He squeezed Dorian tighter, he had to remember there was someone here who would mourn him, who would be hurt if he left. He couldn’t leave Dorian alone.. he wouldn’t leave his Amatus alone ever again.

-

It took nearly a week of intensive healing from Solas to enable Bastien to walk again, though he still needed a crutch and bandages still covered a fair amount of his body. It would take time to get back into training, and he sorely missed the exertion, the distraction that heavy exercise brought.  Bastien couldn’t fight the sour taste in his mouth or the wrenching in his chest when he passed the training field and saw Bull and Cassandra standing in for Cullen. It wasn’t right, they should have found him by now.

But he may never see Cullen again. He was gone, just like Derrick, just like Eloren, just like Jean.

A hand at his shoulder recalled him, guiding him forward and he gave Dorian a small smile. He hadn’t left his side for more than an instant, aside from a few, very quick moments where he left to bathe. Bastien had to wait a few more days before he could soak in the hot springs, it was the only thing he really looked forward to at the moment. He followed Dorian further into the hall, eyes focused on Dorian’s back.

Derricks face, twisted with rage and lyrium, still flashed in his mind. The sight of his neck splayed open by Bastien’s sword, of the blood erupting from his chest as his sword plunged deeper. The wide arc of blood carved into Cullen’s back… his own fault, his own hesitation…

“Bastien.” Dorian’s voice was soft, yet Bastien startled, eyes flicking up to Dorian’s. He offered a weak smile and continued forward on his crutches, making their way towards the war room. He was going to send a sizable search party to the falls, following its river further down, until it opened to the southern sea if need be. He would find something, he had to.

Dorian stayed close, watching Bastien’s every movement, ready to jump in if needed. He’d never handled significant loss so acutely. He’d been expecting Felix’s death, though it hurt it was no surprise and he had time to prepare. He didn’t know what to say when Bastien suddenly fell into himself, his eyes focused on some distant point as his features went blank. He saw it the day he’d woken as well, when everything finally calmed down, but it was happening more and more frequently. He really hoped the advisors had good news.


	63. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was titled 'Blackwall goes awol' in my notes.

Dorian cradled the glasses in his hand, swirling the amber liquid as he paused on the threshold. Bastien had a terrible day. First Blackwall disappeared and he’d been wracked with worry, and when they learned his crimes Bastien had simply shut down. It had only been three weeks since Cullen had gone over the falls, since that nightmare at the Well of Sorrows. Leliana was currently doing something immensely shady to bring the man to Skyhold, something Dorian was not too fond of. The man lied to them all, he’d had children slaughtered, and he deserved no mercy.

The overall air in Skyhold was crackling in agitation and betrayal. For someone so cruel to have been among them and none of them notice? That he would choose now, of all times, to betray them all? Dorian shook his head, Bastien had taken it the hardest. He’d spoken to Dorian of Blackwall, said he reminded him of some estranged uncle or some such. He didn’t look to him nearly as much as Cullen, but it was obvious he cared for the man’s opinions. And now he was betrayed. Dorian took a deep breath, and pushed open the doors, ready to offer up himself and the brandy and whatever else it would take to comfort Bastien.

The candlelight flickered dimly in the corner of the room, wavering with the gentle breeze carried through the open windows. The fireplace threw light towards the bed, towards the stairs, but left the little corner where the desk and shelves sat in the darkness, relying solely on a little candle. It’s light flickered over Bastien, making his hair seem so much darker, his features sunken and hollow, the red scar of his nearly healed burn shone like wax. The man looked so very tired, and why shouldn’t he? After everything he’d endured, after everything they had already been through, this was unnecessarily cruel. His head braced against his hand, surely the only thing keeping his head from falling to the table, collapsing on the mountain of papers spread out before him. His shoulders were curled inward in a posture so demure and beaten that Dorian wanted to scream. Bastien was shy, yes, but he was not frail. He was bashful, yes, but he did not fold. Then again, the Maker had sent more than enough things to break him.

He set the glass at the edge of the papers, startling Bastien’s head to rise. His eyes were bloodshot when they met Dorian’s, angry from being open for so long. He relaxed visibly upon recognizing him, sinking back against his chair to push both hands through what remained of his hair, one side had been burned away and Bastien had shaved the other side to match. His lips were no longer pale, and with each passing day he looked more and more like himself physically, though his smile was much less frequent and much harder to incite, his eyes much more distant. Bastien’s scars had improved, his shoulder nearly normal, the large cut on his abdomen from Solas’ procedure nearly gone. He hoped his face would heal as well, not for any vain reason, he just wished Bastien, nor himself, would have to live with the reminder of what that scar meant. It looked significantly better, but would need more healing to be gone. 

 Dorian took a long look at the papers, letters from various lords and ladies both lesser and greater, and not a single one started politely. Beneath the several open letters, there was a full stack of those yet unopened.

“What are they all so upset about?”

“The Warden Treaties we used to gain support at the beginning of all this.” His voice was immensely weary, “They are all demanding some form of reparation for this lie. Josephine thinks we should cave, that we have to do something to appease them all. I’m sure if Cullen were here he would think the whole thing was ridiculous, make some comment about the frivolity of it and refuse. I’m inclined to agree, without those treaties we couldn’t have gained the ground we have, we also spared the wardens at Adamant, which should give us the right… and it’s not like they were the only ones lied to.”

His tone grew sharp and he huffed out a sigh between his teeth. Dorian circled the short chair, bracing his arms around Bastien’s neck. “Come to bed, this can wait until you are rested.”

“But the letters-“

“Will unfortunately be there when you wake, it’s not like Josephine or Leliana are losing any sleep over this, why should you?” _You’ve been through enough._ Dorian pulled at his arm, ignoring the brandy he’d set on the table. The man didn’t need a drink, he needed sleep.

Ignoring Bastien’s ongoing complaints, he began to remove the man’s clothing. Despite the verbal protests to stay awake, his body seemed to disagree, punctuating his sentences with yawns and eagerly complying with Dorian’s efforts. He resisted most at the edge of the bed, but with an un-ceremonial yet still gentle shove he fell back. Dorian peeled off his own clothes quickly, remaining only in his smalls when he climbed up beside Bastien. He grabbed the man’s arm and pulled it around his waist, snuggling in. He felt the sigh rush out against the back of his neck with Bastien’s surrender. The arm around his waist pulled him closer, pressing him against the bare skin of Bastien’s chest. Course whiskers scraped against his shoulder as soft lips pressed a kiss against the crest, dragging down to kiss between the shoulder blades, then up to kiss the back of his head. 

“Goodnight, Dorian.” Bastien murmured as he buried his face into the back of Dorian’s neck.

“Goodnight, Bastien.” He smiled, sinking into the warmth offered and pulling the blanket up to his shoulder.

While he had once said he wouldn’t suggest venturing into mutual domesticity, that’s exactly what this felt like, that this little loft was their home, the only safe place he truly had in all of Thedas, where he could be entirely, recklessly himself without abandon and he would do anything to keep it safe.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading/commenting/kudoing/bookmarking you are all so amazing! Thanks for sticking with me as I endure school and such nonsense!


	64. Long Awaited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience!!

Bastien flew up the stairs three at a time, gasping for breath by the time he reached Leliana’s loft. Theyd found something, Bastien still didn’t know what that something was but with Cullen still missing anything new was vital. He froze when he saw it glinting in the candlelight.

Placed in sections over Leliana’s table… was Cullen’s armor. Bastien’s eyes flicked to Leliana first, but she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but we have no sign of him. We only managed to obtain this from a trader passing by one of our outposts near the wilds. Unfortunately, how he obtained it is still rather obscure, but we are going to find out all he knows.” Leliana’s tone began soothing, but ended sharp and deadly.

Bastien turned his attention back to the armor on the table, focusing on the large gash curling through the metal. This had been the blow that sent him over the cliffs. This had been the strike Derrick had delivered before Bastien managed to get his head on straight. He clenched his teeth, barely noticing when Dorian’s arm curled around his waist and pulled him into his chest.

It was all his fault. His brother had been corrupted by the red lyrium and had attacked him while he stood gaping, making Cullen feel like he needed to save him. Looking at this armor now, it was terrifyingly likely that Cullen was dead… and it was all his fault.

Dorian held him tight as his last hopes of seeing Cullen alive vanished.

\---

Dorian slammed into the door with his shoulder, throwing it open and startling more than one noble as he charged through the garden, kicking up the pebbles from the pathway as he gained speed. He’d taken his eyes off of Bastien for five minutes to go to his alcove and retrieve a book - which is where he overheard Leliana’s cry for help, her explanation to Solas that Bastien had gone through the Eluvian, alone, after Morrigan. He would kill him for this, absolutely kill him. The bandages were off his face, but the burn was still healing, the worst of the damage was healed, but he was still weak and winded from blood loss. He shouldn’t be…wherever that stupid mirror led!

He threw open the final door and nearly knocked over Keiran. Sitting before the glowing light of the Eluvian, he saw Bastien seated on a crate in front of Morrigan, wringing his hands as they spoke. He was drenched, his hair matted flat against his head, his tunic sticking to his chest and back, he wasn’t even wearing his armor. His boots were covered in muck to the ankles, smears of it over his arms and hands where he’d likely caught himself. Dorian fumed, Bastien was covered in the scent of the fade. He clenched his fists at his sides and cleared his throat. Both of their heads swiveled to face him and Bastien colored, what little he could, and rubbed the back of his neck. He smiled at Morrigan, who turned and closed the Eluvian, leaving the room awash in the warm rays of the sun and soft flicker of candlelight before departing, leaving the two of them alone in the room. A heavy silence followed.

“I feel like I’m saying this a lot lately but, I’m sorry.” Bastien began, leaning forward on his elbows to fiddle with Jean’s ring. “I just… I couldn’t leave Keiran in the fade alone.”

Dorian clenched and unclenched his fists, his eyes pressed shut as he struggled to calm himself. He wanted to kiss him, he wanted to slap him, he wanted to shout, he wanted to cry… A shadow fell over him, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close. He wanted to struggle against it, to shove him away and punish him, somehow, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not when Bastien’s heart still beat far too fast, not when his skin was still too pale, not when that burn remained, an angry red reminder of Bastien’s sacrifice for him. So he stood there, rigid in Bastien’s embrace.

“I thought -,” Dorian cleared his throat, furious at the way it trembled, “I thought ‘this is it, this is when I lose him.’”

His voice broke, and Bastien pulled him closer. They stood like that for a moment, Dorian sobbing, Bastien rubbing those small circles across his back, nothing but the flickering light of the few candles and a small ray of light from the stained glass window to illuminate the room. After a few moments, Dorian’s breathing calmed and Bastien pressed him closer to his chest.

“Dorian, listen.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Listen to my heart. I know this sounds cheesey but… please. Do you hear how strong it is? Never mind if its steady, that’s all you.” Bastien laughed gently and Dorian listened to the strong, if a bit unsteady rhythm of his heart. He’d thought it was still frail, still fluttering, but it sounded as strong as ever, and when Bastien turned his face up to look him in the eye, the lips he thought were pale had their normal rich color, the blush back on Bastien’s cheeks, the burn not quite so dark against his skin. “You saw me through what is hopefully the worst injury I will ever sustain. You stayed by my side, I’m not going anywhere.”

He murmured the promise against Dorian’s lips, the warm air caressing his skin followed shortly after by Bastien’s lips against his. Dorian sank into the embrace. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed Bastien’s recovery. Everything had been so muted, he’d been so frantic, he hadn’t seen him grow stronger with each passing day, and now, miraculously, he was nearly back to normal. How long had it been?

A trumpet blast tore them apart, rocketing through Skyhold like lightning. They both froze, regarding one another for a moment before the trumpets blared again, followed by shouts and cries and the thunder of so many feet rushing towards a single destination. Clasping Dorian’s hand, Bastien led them out into the garden. The shouts which greeted them made Bastien freeze in his steps. His heart skipped and fluttered wildly at the sound, adrenaline shooting through him as he began to move forward, pulling Dorian along behind him as they broke into a run. There was no way…

_“The Commander! It’s the Commander!”_


	65. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an apology for the long hiatus followed by a short chapter, here's a long chapter with some fluff. Thanks for sticking with me!!! <3 <3

They stood at the top of the stairs, well above the mass of bodies gathered in the main courtyard, watching with bated breath as the stream of soldiers filtered in beneath the portcullis. Bastien recognized a few as the ones Leliana had sent out to scour the neighboring hills, well out and past the wilds. His hands flexed against Dorian’s, convulsively squeezing them and Dorian returned each gesture. He’d given up. He’d completely given up hope the day Leliana presented the shredded armor to him. He desperately wished the people weren’t misinformed. He hoped the lookouts were right. He recognized Rylen near the head of the column and just behind him… _Cullen._ Cullen was riding directly behind Rylen. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to rush forward and embrace him, but he didn’t know what sort of image that would portray to the people of the Inquisition. He glanced at Dorian, looking for some kind of sign, some signal to tell him what to do. When Dorian smiled, and motioned his head towards Cullen Bastien’s heart soared and, after giving Dorian a rather loud kiss, he bolted down the stairs, ignoring his pounding heart and burning legs until he was at the head of the column.

“Cullen!” He shouted, walking alongside with so many members of the Inquisition. He’d thought his voice was drowned out in the multitude of cries resonating around him, but Cullen’s gaze met his and he smiled wide. Slowly swinging down off his horse, with the help of a few scouts, he made his way towards Bastien and embraced him. He’d lost a bit of weight, but he was alive. They’d both approached the brink of death and somehow made it back in one piece, if not a bit scarred and tired. Cullen grinned down at him.

“It is good to see you, Bastien.”

“Likewise.” Bastien grinned back, releasing Cullen’s hand as Cassandra approached to embrace him in turn. It wasn’t long before Cullen was fully surrounded by the people who cared for him, who’d desperately missed him. It seemed wholly impossible he’d survive, and Bastien wasn’t the only one thinking it.

“I must ask, how did you manage to survive? We recovered your armor but it was in poor shape.” Leliana spoke up, “It did not seem likely you would survive such an injury.”

Cullen colored a bit and gestured to a woman Bastien didn’t recognize. She sat rigidly on the back of a horse, her long auburn hair windswept around her face, her bright azure eyes glancing frantically at the excited crowd undulating around her. At her feet, a mabari stood hunched, ears back and sniffing, snarling at anyone who tried to approach.

“She found me face down in a river bank and nursed me back to health. I’m fairly certain she is regretting that decision at the moment.” He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “She was… not pleased with the idea of coming to Skyhold.”  

Bastien regarded the woman carefully. Her tanned skin shimmered with a barrier, so she had to be a mage, a rather terrified one. Her entire frame radiated fear, a desperate desire to flee, but he couldn’t allow her to leave, not without a proper thank you. He knew Leliana wanted to ask her questions, but that would have to wait. Breaking from the group, he approached her slowly, stopping when the Mabari’s gaze flicked to him and he began to growl.

“My name is Bastien Trevelyan, and on behalf of the entire Inquisition I would be honored to express my gratitude. Your rescue of Commander Cullen is nothing short of miraculous. He is very dear to us and we felt his loss keenly. You are welcome to remain in Skyhold for as long as you like, please make yourself at home.”

“I would rather leave, if it’s an option.” Her voice was clipped, her eyes hard on his. “I was not brought here by choice.”

“I would speak with you first,” Leliana stepped forward, hands folded behind her back, “After which you are welcome to depart when we have troops to escort you home.”

“And if I refuse?” Her tone was sharp as she addressed Leliana. Bastien stepped forward, hand outstretched and the warmest smile he could muster on his face.

“Please, just give us a chance. We are friends of mages here and no harm will come to you. You are free to roam Skyhold to your hearts content. At the very least, Cullen should show you our garden.” Her gaze followed his hand, seeming to lock onto it for a moment. Her eyes narrowed, her face pulling to a scowl before widening in surprise. She looked at him, then down to the ring before shaking her head.

“Very well. I will stay for one night. After that I will take my leave as I see fit.” Dorian saw Cullen’s face fall at her words and his eyebrow shot up. _Interesting._ She swung off her horse and the Mabari glued itself to her leg.

“May we know your names?” Bastien added, taking an additional step forward and offering his hand.

She took it timidly, shaking it briefly before letting go. The mabari sniffed at him and seemed to relax, a gesture which appeared to soothe at least some of her concern.

“My name is Maerin, this is Harel.” The mabari leaned into her touch as she rested a hand on his head. Bastien laughed outright, startling the both of them.

“I’m sorry,” He grinned, “Its just been a long few weeks so something somewhat funny seems hilarious. He just seems like such a sweet and protective beast but you named him ‘Dread’.”

Maerin smiled, looking down at the dog, “It was the only one he liked, I don’t think it fits him well either.”

Harel snorted, tongue lolling to the side in a grin when he looked up to Maerin’s smiling face.

“Well then, I’m certain you are exhausted from your trip. Cullen, please show her to whatever room she would like then get some rest yourself.” Josephine interjected giving Bastien a pointed look before motioning to the crowd to disperse.

“Yes, sorry. My excitement got the better of me. Please, I hope we can speak more later.” He ducked his head and took a step back, embarrassed at his very public overexcitement.

“Don’t rest too long, Curly. It’s been too long since I beat you at wicked grace, that changes tonight.” Varric grinned, pointing a thumb at Bastien, “Rosie here is getting too good.”

Cullen nodded farewell to them all and, gently taking Maerin by the shoulder, guided her to his office. They were barely out of sight before Bastien turned, wrapping Dorian in his arms and spinning him in the air.

“Put me down!” Dorian exclaimed, cheeks visibly darkening, “I told you I am not a damsel.”

Bastien didn’t seem to hear the protest, cupping Dorian’s cheeks in his warm and rough palms before pressing their lips together in a kiss that conveyed his excitement and relief all at once. Dorian melted into it, feeling shaken as Bastien abruptly pulled away to hug Josephine and Cass, grinning ear to ear. His heart continued to pound in his ears as Bastien began to celebrate Cullen’s return. Even with Bastien’s reassurances, even hearing his strong heartbeat, Dorian hadn’t been completely convinced of his recovery. But now he most certainly was, and the need for physical contact he’d been repressing rushed to the surface in one uncontrollable craving for skin to skin, of being close to him, of basking in the warmth that seemed to radiate from him. He had been by his side through his recovery, but he’d missed _this_ Bastien so much. He felt his eyes begin to burn and turned, heading back towards the stairs.

He barely made it three feet before Bastien caught him, bracing his arm around his shoulder as he turned to wave goodbye to their companions. He guided them both towards Dorian’s room, which was far closer than his loft, and closed the door gently behind him. The instant they were alone Dorian barraged him with kisses. Soft and gentle all over his face, firm and heated against his lips, all while tears of relief began to stream down his face.

Bastien laughed gently, kissing Dorian back with equal enthusiasm before taking his hands and pushing him away. He gently brushed a tear from Dorian’s cheek and leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss to Dorian’s hair.

“I’d like to assume those are happy tears,” He murmured, pulling Dorian firmly against him. Dorian nodded against his shoulder. “Did you miss Cullen that much?”

“No,” Dorian’s voice was muffled against his shoulder, “I missed _you_.”

Bastien laughed, “Me? You’ve been constantly by my side how could you possibly miss me?”

Dorian squeezed him tighter, “I missed _this_ you, the you that laughs, the you that smiles that wide, the you that shows your affection as you feel it, the you without restraint.”

Bastien stroked Dorian’s hair. “I have been neglecting you.”

“You were injured.” Dorian dismissed quickly, but Bastien pulled back, shaking his head.

“It doesn’t matter. With everything you have done for me, I’ve let you feel alone and that is unforgivable.” He lifted Dorian’s hands to his lips with a smirk, “Though I will try my very best to convince you otherwise.”

Dorian most definitely did not blush.

“Dorian Pavus, I am so hopelessly in love with you I don’t even know where to begin. I’d tell you you’re beautiful, but you know that already. Have I told you how proud I am to be with someone so impossibly strong? Perhaps I should tell you how my heart still skips when I see you looking at me? When you brush against me? When I wake up beside you? That I only truly feel anchored when I’m near you, when I’m holding you?” Bastien moved closer, his lips brushing the shell of Dorian’s ear, “Should I tell you how you occupy my every waking thought? Of your rather wicked presence in my dreams?”

Dorian most definitely was not bright red. Bastien’s lips trailed along his jaw, brushing gentle kisses to the corner of Dorian’s mouth, his thumb trailing along the opposite side.

“Maybe I should just keep it simple, and tell you that Amatus… doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He captured Dorian’s mouth, arms curling around him to pull him in as he devoured him so thoroughly Dorian’s mind went blank. His hands, trapped between their chests, could do nothing but grip his tunic, clinging desperately as he was consumed.  He soon felt the cool stone of his wall press against his back as he was pinned between the strength of the stone and Bastien. Completely surrounded by such strength, he felt something wound tight inside of him relax and all the weariness from the last few weeks came rushing forward. He felt Bastien smile against him as he sagged heavily against the wall, not protesting when Bastien lifted him and gently set him in the bed, breaking the kiss to pull the covers up to Dorian’s chin.

“Everyone is healthy, everyone is safe.” He brushed his hand along Dorian’s hair, against his cheek, “Get some rest, my most beloved, you’ve earned it.”

Dorian felt coarse whiskers brush against his temple before giving in to his exhaustion and falling into a deep sleep.


	66. Relatives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am hoping this chapter makes sense without reading Cullens Cottage. Just in case it doesn't: Maerin doesn't know her mom, her dad took her away when she started showing magic and the mom wanted to put her in the circle. She was raised in the woods with him at the cottage. If you think its unclear please let me know!!!

Bastien raised his glass for what felt like the hundredth time, toasting once more to Cullen’s health and safe return. His arm was getting a bit sore, though perhaps his glass was too full. Varric seemed to think keeping it nearly full to the brim was a good idea, some strategy to get Bastien too drunk to win at wicked grace, and the blackberry mead was going down very smooth so it was probably working. Glancing to his left, he saw Maerin, clinging to the wall with Harel half beneath her, seeming to enjoy watching the revelry, but not wanting to get too caught up in it. She’d given her statements to Leliana, refusing to rest until it was out of the way. After much convincing from Cullen and Bastien, she agreed to stay a few more nights to at least rest before making the journey home. Following her gaze, he landed on Cullen, and he smirked. Retrieving another glass of mead from the barkeep, he made his way over to her, offering the drink first.

“It’s blackberry and honey mead, it’s really good.” He smiled wider as she took the glass, sipping tentatively before nodding. “Mind if I join you?”

She seemed to hesitate, but conceded. The moment he was situated, Harel fell into his lap, rubbing his face all over Bastien’s chest. He couldn’t help but laugh at the complete turnaround in the animal’s behavior, and scratched the beast behind the ear.

“Sorry, but this stuff is expensive. If you want some ale I’m sure you could steal Varric’s, he’s about your height.” He pointed to the dwarf in question and Harel seemed to contemplate. While the mabari plotted, he turned his attention back to Maerin. “I’m sure your about sick of hearing it, but thank you for saving Cullen, he is a good man.”

She regarded him quietly, sipping at her mead before smiling. Bastien thought he saw the faintest twinge of a blush when she murmured, “He is.”

“I hope he wasn’t too much of a burden,” He smiled, but it faded, “I do have to ask though, since he seems _so much_ better, did you help him with… um…”

“His withdrawls?” She finished for him, setting her glass on the table, “Yes. It is… refreshing to see so much support for his struggles. Lady Cassandra seemed particularly relieved.”

Bastien, despite his usual dense mentality when it came to subtleties, caught the tone right away. “Yeah, she would be. He asked her to relieve him of duty on several occasions, but we would be lost without him. He is like a brother to us all.” He emphasized the all a bit to firmly, and she blushed, looking down. Feeling rather foolish, he blushed as well and cleared his throat. “I have to be honest, I’m a bit awkward most of the time, I tend to just… barrel forward or get embarrassed or both. So, I’m sorry if I am making you uncomfortable.”

She glanced back up and smiled, “A bit, but I was honestly wondering so thank you.” She seemed thoughtful for a moment, then gestured to his hand, “May I see your ring?”

Bastien blinked and held his hand out to her, watching her delicate fingers gently brush and twist Jean’s ring. She attempted to remove it, and he withdrew his hand rather quickly.

“Sorry, it was left to me by an older brother. It is all I have left of him and I never take it off.” He cradled the ring in his fingers, twisting it back into place and holding it there.

“I’m sorry… it’s just…” she seemed to consider a moment, then sighed and pulled the chain around her neck, holding the small pendent out to him. “I have its match.”

Bastien’s brow furrowed as he looked at the small circle in her hand. It held the same circle of running wolves, but delicate and with gemstones in their eyes. Bastien held them side by side, and there was no denying, they were a pair.

“Where did you get this?” His mind was racing, he’d seen that ring before. But where?

“My father gave it to me, he said it once belonged to my mother. She wanted to send me to the circle, but my father refused. He switched the rings and took me away, I don’t even remember what she looked like. All I can remember is bright red hair and kind green eyes.” She looked up at him and laughed derisively, “Though I suppose that would mean several hundred women.”

It wasn’t possible. _Mother’s portrait?_ He’d first seen that ring in his mother’s room, a painting of her when she was younger, before she married his father. The portrait she had given him before he went off to the conclave. He’d stared at it so much, how had he not noticed the matching ring? That ring was on her hand in that painting, but he’d never seen it on her finger. Was he deluding himself to thinking he saw similar features in Maerin? He knew he was staring when Maerin touched his shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes…I just…” But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be possible. Perhaps she sold it when they married, but his parents both came from wealthy families, so why would she need to? And how did Jean wind up with its match? 

_Try not to sound so utterly surprised, I had a love of my own once._

And Maerin’s mother had bright red hair and kind green eyes, just like his own.

“Wait here, just a moment.” Bastien stood abruptly, nearly knocking his glass over as he stood, pushing his way roughly out of the tavern. He raced up to his loft, winded by the time he’d arrived, digging frantically through drawers before he found it. Sure enough, Maerin’s ring was right there on his mother’s finger.

“Bastien?” Cullen’s voice made him jump and his eyes shot to the stairs. Cullen stood at the top of the stairs, a concerned and confused eyebrow raised. Maerin stood behind him, gripping his arm with raw worry in her expression.

“Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you it’s just… Look at this.” He held the portrait of his mother out to her. Cullen led her over to the light and she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the woman in the painting.

“Yes! That’s her!” She turned to Bastien, gripping his tunic in a supplicating gesture, “Please you have to tell me who she is!”

Bastien was dumbstruck. He simply couldn’t find the words to answer her. Fortunately, Cullen knew the answer.

“It’s his mother, Lady Mariane Trevelyan.” His voice seemed nearly as dumbstruck as Bastien felt. Maerin froze, slowly releasing her grip. Her eyes sought Bastien’s for confirmation, and he nodded.

“She gave the ring to my brother,” Bastien murmured, finally finding his voice, “He was the eldest of us four. Well, I guess now the second eldest… and he left it to me in his will.”

“I have siblings?” She pressed her palm to her forehead, “My mother is a noblewoman? And mother to the leader of the Inquisition?”

“I’m just as surprised as you are.” He murmured, twirling the ring on his finger. “So…um… do you want to hear about them?”

She glanced up at him with tears in her eyes, “Very much so. But… I don’t want to get my hopes up. Please, if you would, write to your mother, ask her to come here to meet me, or I’ll go to meet her. You could ask her about me, if you will, and see if she will admit to my existence.”

Cullen laced his fingers with hers and she looked up at him, smiling softly.

“It’s alright, I had my father, and he was wonderful. And thanks to him keeping me out of the circle, I have you.” She squeezed his hand and his cheeks began to color. She smiled, “I think I will turn in for the night. It has been… rather eventful and I need some time alone to think.” She turned to Cullen and, reaching up on her toes, pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Go enjoy your party and wake me when you come back.”

“Goodnight, Maerin.” Bastien spoke with as much force as he could muster.

“Goodnight, Bastien… I hope you are my little brother, I would be so proud to be your big sister.” And with that, she descended the stairs.

Cullen and Bastien sat in silence for a few moments, then looked at one another and scoffed.

“Well, our lives definitely aren’t boring.” Cullen grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t believe it. Is it strange that I hope it’s true?”

“If it is then I’m in the same boat.” Bastien laughed, “She is right though, we shouldn’t get our hopes up too high... That being said I don’t think I can stop it if I tried.”

“Regardless, you aren’t alone.” Cullen braced a hand on his shoulder and they shared a brief moment before both blushed at the intimacy of the situation. Clearing his throat, Cullen removed is hand.

“We, ah, we should get back to the party.” Bastien’s cheeks were stained red as he looked away, gesturing to the stairs.

“Yes, we should.” Cullen nodded, taking a step back and leading the way towards the stairs before pausing. “One more thing, since we are already in an awkward moment and I can’t make it worse… Were I your brother, I would be very proud to call myself such. I mean… I am proud of you regardless of relation… just…”

“Yeah… thanks.” Bastien grinned, and followed a still stammering Cullen down the stairs.


	67. Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I had an 8wk old puppy materialize into my life so things have been a bit hectic!

A few more rounds at the tavern had Bastien fairly knackered, which was not safe considering it was nearly time for wicked grace. Currently, he found himself draped across Iron Bull’s shoulder, supporting himself with a hooked arm over one of the massive horns as he spilled his heart out to the giant man.

“I just, I love him, y’know? So I mean… if you think he’d like that… maybe I’ll try it…” He slurred, and felt Bull shake beneath him. “Hey don’t laugh, I’m serious.”

“I know you are, kiddo, I know.” Bull lifted his own tankard of what smelled like leather polish and drained it in three gulps.

“Ugh…what is that?”

“Maraas-Lok.” At Bastien’s curious glance, he rumbled another laugh and pushed the bottoms of Bastien’s glass towards his face, “Just drink.”

Bastien tilted his glass back, raising his eyes in time to see Dorian step through the door looking just a bit disheveled and sleepy but significantly more refreshed. He shoved his shoulder against Bull.

“See him? See how gorgeous he is?” He leaned down to whisper in Bull’s ear, “I’ve kiss’d him, he’s a great kisser.” He sighed, long and heavy, “I wanna marry him. I’m gonna, you just… you just wait. But shhhhHHHHHhhhhh…”

Dorian made his way over to the table in time to catch Bastien as he flung himself towards him, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face into his neck all in one motion. Nipping along Dorian’s neck, he murmured, “You are so sexy.”

Dorian’s eyes went wide and he glanced to Bull, who toasted him and stretched out his neck, patting Bastien on the back as he stood to leave.

“Your turn.”

Dorian lowered Bastien to the bench, moving to stand but Bastien caught his face and pulled it closer, capturing his mouth with teeth and tongue. Fingers roved into his hair, pulling him closer, it was everything Dorian could do to push him away. Weeks of physical starvation made this gesture far too provocative to be continued, at least in public. With a wave of his hand, he flooded Bastien with healing magic, sobering him up a little. Bastien blinked at Dorian’s very close face, then blushed dark red and let him go.

“Sorry.” He murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, “My glass just never seemed to be empty.”

“I’m sure.” Dorian sighed, shooting a glare to Varric, who was already setting up for wicked grace in the central table. Many of the patrons had filtered off, leaving mostly the core group behind.

By the time they were a few rounds into the game, they all immediately regretted inviting Josephine. The only solace that Bastien could take from her presence and his own losses was that Varric seemed to be losing nearly as badly as he was, though thankfully neither he nor Dorian were losing as badly as Cullen, who was left in nothing but his underclothes. Dorian had only lost his shirt, which was damn distracting and resulted in Bastien losing the next few hands. Now he was left in nothing but his socks and his underclothes, a precarious situation when Dorian was staring at him like that. Like he wanted to devour him under the table. He shook his head, the visual wasn’t helping either. He looked up and saw Dorian grinning, the bastard was doing that on purpose.

With a final round, Cullen sprinted off, pale cheeked in the moonlight, to his loft. Hopefully, someone would take pity on him before he was locked nude in his loft with Maerin. He looked over at Dorian as the game came to a merciful end.

“May I please have my pants back?” Bastien’s face was covered in a heavy blush, his eyes downcast, looking everywhere but at Dorian.

Dorian leaned forward, cradling his face in his hands. “Hm… I’m not sure, I rather enjoy the view.”

Bastien burned, his blush spreading lower on his chest. “Dorian, please.”

“Please what, darling?” He couldn’t help but feel a bit delighted at the sound of Bastien begging, and most of the other patrons were either stumbling out of the door or passed out beneath the tables. He had this delightfully torturous scene all to himself.

“You’re enjoying this.” Bastien murmured, wiggling uncomfortably.

“A little.” He winked.

“I will get you back, you know.” Bastien’s eyes finally met his, and he felt the challenge, was thrilled by it.

“Promise?” Dorian purred, and he saw something in Bastien’s eyes shift, become less bashful and more mischievous. He _loved_ that look. Glancing around briefly to ensure no one in the tavern was conscious, Bastien ducked under the table. Dorian jolted when he felt hands grab him by the hips, warm breath rushing out across his lower abdomen. “Bastien wha-“

His words halted on his tongue as Bastien began to mouth him through his breeches. It was so uncharacteristically bold, so completely surprising, he felt himself harden readily at the attention, fingernails digging into the wood of the table. Despite no one around them being aware, it still felt so exposed, so public, and Bastien was doing such delightfully wicked things with his tongue. He tried to shift, to get more attention, but Bastien held him still and stopped, glancing up at Dorian from under the table.

“Give me back my pants.” His voice was thick, his cheeks still flushed, but Dorian had completely lost control of the situation. Bastien had taken it from him so quickly that he craved it more. He wanted Bastien to control him. He grabbed the pants beside him and shoved them unceremoniously into Bastien’s face, hiding his own flood of embarrassment as he willed his erection to subside. Regardless who’s room they retired to there was a lot of open courtyard between here and there and his breeches were rather noticeably wet. Bastien inched out from beneath the table and stood, pulling his pants on with a slow, deliberate motion, giving Dorian plenty of time to see what his mischief had done. His underclothes were stretched tight and straining, a heavy blush in place from the tips of his ears to his navel. The sight undoing what little progress Dorian had managed at calming himself. He swallowed hard. Bastien laced his breeches loose and moved towards him, tipping his head back at an almost uncomfortable angle before bending to claim his mouth once more.

Dorian’s head swam, his focus on the aggressive attention of Bastien’s tongue as he wrapped his arms around Bastien’s hips and pulled him closer. He could feel the heat of him pressing against his chest and he groaned into Bastien’s mouth. Bastien abruptly broke the kiss, leaning forward to grab Dorian by the waist and lift him until his legs wrapped around his hips. Turning, he pressed Dorian against a nearby column and buried his face into his neck, continuing his assault. Dorian struggled to remember how to breathe as Bastien took the hands gripping his hair and pinned them over his head.

Bastien’s heart thundered in his ears, drunk off the salty taste of Dorian on his lips, the hints of embrium left from his morning bath, the hammer of his pulse against his tongue, the feel of his bare chest heaving desperately against him. He had to stop Dorian’s hands from pulling his hair, stop the bolts of electricity tracing down his spine. The column and his legs held most of Dorian’s weight, not to mention Dorian’s strong, writhing grip around his hips. Bastien bit down harder and Dorian moaned, the sound rushing through him and fueling him forward. Pressing him harder against the wall, he scraped his teeth down Dorians neck to his chest before swirling his tongue around an erect nipple, nibbling gently. Lewd sounds and Tevene curses came pouring from his lips as his hips bucked forward eagerly.  It had been far too long for both of them.

“This is a nice show.” A deep voice rumbled behind them and they both froze, crashing back into themselves and suddenly remembering where they were. Bastien felt the blush gradually cover his entire body as he slowly lowered a disheveled Dorian to the ground. Refusing to look up, to make eye contact with Iron Bull, he grabbed Dorian by the hand and towed him towards the exit.

Dorian, however had no shame in being caught. Pulling down an eyelid with his middle finger and sticking out his tongue, he resorted to one of Sera’s signature gestures. Bull rumbled out a laugh.

“Where you goin!?” He laughed harder, the rumbling sound fading after Dorian kicked the door shut.


	68. Some Like it Rough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW 
> 
> I wasn't gonna post this for a few more days but Cutie_J's flood of wonderful comments motivated me to post it now. THANK YOU!!! <3 <3 <3

The walk to Bastien's loft felt like it took an eternity. Their interlaced fingers the only connection between them left from their heated exchange. Dorian craved Bastien’s skin, his coarse palms gripping his wrists and holding him still, the rough wood against his back. Had that bastard not interrupted he would have delighted in Bastien taking him there against the wall. Bastien was still covered in a blush, his grip still firm on his hand, his step still determined. He supposed he could forgive Bull, provided Bastien continued the way he had in the Tavern. If he didn’t, or if Maker forbid Bastien didn’t want to continue at all, he would leave so many traps in Bull’s room. He’d saw the leg on Bull’s chair so it would break when he sat down, he’d dump all of his favorite booze. He was still contemplating how to avenge himself when they finally reached the loft.

Bastien didn’t hesitate, the moment the door was closed he pinned Dorian against it, locking it behind his back. He didn’t want any more interruptions, he wanted to lose himself in Dorian, in the taste of him, the feel of him, his scent and his sounds, all of it wrapped around him and pulled him back to the same desperate frenzy he’d felt before. His kiss was desperate, teeth clacking when he angled his head to delve deeper into that inviting warmth. It wasn’t enough. His hands roved over his shirtless frame, fingertips lingering to tease along his neck, his chest, to tug at a nipple before raking down his stomach, gripping the hem of his pants to pull their hips flush. Yet still, it was not enough. Wedging his hand beneath Dorian’s breeches, he filled his palm with his backside, gripping firmly and forcing him closer. Dorian’s perfect backside, soft and supple, gave Bastien a strange urge to sink his teeth into it. He broke the kiss, trailing his lips along Dorian’s jaw, down his neck, tongue laving the rapid pulse point. He was drunk on Dorian and it felt incredible.

Dorian’s mind was deliciously blank, his breeches insufferably tight. Bastien’s teeth raked against his flesh, biting down before sucking hard. He knew his skin would be covered in love bites tomorrow and he very much looked forward to it. The hand resting at his waist shifted to delve into his hair, the hand firmly gripping his backside moved to grab his leg, hiking his knee up to rest against Bastien’s hip, pressing their shafts firmly together with such delicious friction Dorian couldn’t help but cry out. Bastien was being so wonderfully rough with him, and after so much suppressed need he was already on the verge of overflowing. Bastien dropped his leg then, reaching down and lifting him from the ground and depositing him on the stairs. Dorian assumed that, had he been at full health, he would have hauled him up and dropped him onto the bed. A quick glance over his shoulder and he almost needed him to. The look in Bastien’s eyes was feral, his pupils blown wide, his posture predatory, like he wanted nothing more than to devour Dorian.

They barely crested the stairs before he was on him again, fingers fumbling at his laces as he walked them forward stopping once they stood before the fire, right in the center of the lush carpet. Once Dorian’s laces were undone, Bastien tugged at the hem, gently relieving the pressure from his groin as he pushed them down to his knees, tongue laving kisses along his chest and abdomen as he moved. Kneeling before him, Bastien helped him step out of his clothes before tossing them aside. Dorian had expected him to stand back up, but instead he felt those coarse whiskers brush along his thigh, those warm lips move to kiss their way up to the crest of his hip before following the line of muscle to the hem of his underclothes.

Dorian didn’t even dare to hope. He’d never asked it of Bastien, and though he’d moved to attempt it on a few occasions, his bashfulness would always take over and he’d regress to his adorable stammering self. But that hesitation was nowhere to be seen when Bastien looked up, held his gaze as his open mouth pressed against him through his satin underthings. Dorian lurched forward, a hand flying to his mouth to muffle the strangled cry as the other flew to Bastien’s shoulder to hold himself up. Bastien’s hands curled around his hips, supporting him as his tongue dipped lower, leaving a cooling trail in its wake. Dorian shuddered and felt his knees buckle, and he felt Bastien laugh.

He helped Dorian slowly lower himself to the floor, leaning forward to brand him with another searing kiss, pinning his arms over his head. With a deliberate look weighted with the order, he moved back down. Bastien knew that if he let himself back out now, he would never get the courage to try this again. Not unless he was very, very drunk. Hooking his fingers beneath the fabric, he slowly pulled them down his hips, letting the cool silk trail down until Dorian sighed, twitching against his stomach. The sight was so lewd, he felt his shy side trying to take over. Before it had the chance, he moved forward, tracing his tongue in one long motion from the base to the tip.

Bastien’s lips moved slowly to cover the head and Dorian suddenly forgot how to breathe, nearly disobeyed the silent command to leave his hands over his head. Bastien’s tongue swirled around the underside before flicking against the tip, trying to mimic what Dorian had done for him. He tried biting his lip, but the moans still tumbled forth, seeming to fuel Bastien forward, his gestures gaining more confidence and becoming oh so much sweeter.

Bastien’s hand reached down, undoing his own laces to try and find even the slightest relief. The front of his breeches already stained and damp, and the cool air that kissed his skin when he finally pulled himself free was an incredible relief.  Bull’s advice tugged in the back of his mind, but Bastien wasn’t quite sure he would be able to do it, just thinking about it made him blush. Then again, he didn’t think Dorian would hate him for trying, and he very much wanted to sink his teeth into that perfect backside. With that final thought, Bastien made up his mind.

Dorian’s world spun. One moment he was nearing climax with Bastien’s lips and the next he was flat on his chest, his hips hiked up and ass in the air, his arms pinned behind his back by one of Bastien’s coarse palms, the other kneading the flesh of his backside. Before he had the chance to think what may be about to happen, Bastien’s tongue slid over his entrance. His hips bucked forward, and, unable to cover his mouth, his cry echoed in the room while pleasure radiated up his spine, down his legs, to the tip of his knob as it began to drip onto the carpet as Bastien consumed him.

Bastien wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up. Dorian was mewling and writhing, hips bucking back against Bastien's tongue as pleas poured from his lips. Dorian was begging for him, his tone desperate, so impossibly sweet and it was nearly his undoing. With one final firm bite to Dorian’s perfect ass, Bastien stood, quickly making his way to the nightstand where they kept a vial of slick. When he turned back, Dorian hadn’t moved, but he was watching him, gaze half lidded, mouth open as his breath shuddered out, arms still pinned by an imaginary hand, hips moving of their own will as he desperately sought release.

Dorian watched him freeze in his tracks, eyes roving over him, but he couldn’t be more aroused. He was exposed and splayed out before his lover, the only way he could be happier would be if his lover would stop staring, cross the room, and fuck him already. He didn’t know where Bastien had gotten the idea, and he didn’t want to know, but it was one of his favorite things and nothing turned him on faster.  Bastien finally began to move closer, slick dripping on the carpet as he poured it into a shaky hand, covering himself with it as he knelt behind him once more. He felt cool fingers rub against him, felt them begin to pull and stretch inside of him, eagerly pushing back to feel more. He felt Bastien rubbing against him, slowly pushing inside, hand grasping his wrists and his hips until they were flush together, until Bastien was finally inside of him. Before Dorian fully adjusted, Bastien began pistoning his hips, slamming into him hard enough to push his face into the carpet, muffling his moans.

Bastien pulled out completely, flipping Dorian onto his back, gripping him behind the knees before pushing back into him. He wasn’t usually this rough with Dorian, wasn’t usually this bold, but he needed to prove to Dorian that he was strong, that he was alive and healthy, that he had recovered. At least, that was how it started, it had since degraded into the wonderful act of trying to tear as many moans from Dorian’s lips as he could. He felt Dorian arch, felt him clench down, saw the moment of ecstasy pass over his features as he began to spill, Bastien’s hand helping to milk out as much pleasure as possible, releasing to return to Dorian’s knee, pushing them forward as he hammered out his own release.

Dorian ached all over. He felt the course burn of the carpet against his back and chest, the pain in his shoulders and arms still pinned behind him, the stretch in his knees, he dull ache between his legs as Bastien slipped out of him. But he couldn’t really find the energy to care. His bones felt like liquid and he sank into his bliss after being so thoroughly and deliciously fucked. He knew he was smiling when he heard Bastien’s soft laugh.

“I was worried.” Dorian felt the whiskers brush his cheek as Bastien kissed behind his ear. “I thought I might have been too rough.”

Dorian couldn’t even find the words. He merely shook his head mutely and sighed. Bastien lifted his shoulders then, moving his arms to a more relaxed position, gently rubbing the life back into them. Only then did Dorian notice the smell of embrium in the room. His eyes lazily searched before settling on the large bronze tub, somehow still steaming, before the far window. Finally sitting up, he reached out of Bastien, cupping the back of his head as they shared a long, lazy kiss.

“That was…” Dorian laughed, shaking his head and smirked. “Almost worth the wait.”

“Almost?” Bastien laughed, pushing his fingers through Dorian’s hair, “It sounded pretty worth it on my end, Amatus.”

“Well, the ending could use a little more.” Dorian fought the blush as he remembered how vocal he had been. “A bath, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.” Bastien grinned, and Dorian’s heart skipped at the raw affection on his features. Bastien stood, taking Dorian with him towards the warm water. When the bath began to run cold, and Dorian had begun to drift off in his arms, they dried and snuggled beneath the thick blankets of his oversized bed. Dorian fell asleep immediately, but Bastien, though delightfully relaxed, couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. Cullen was safely back, he might have discovered another sibling, Dorian wrapped tightly in his arms and sleeping peacefully. Everything should be right in him, he should be at peace. But one thought, nagging at the back of his mind since the Arbor Wilds, reared its ugly head in his moment of bliss.

Where was Corypheus?

They’d heard nothing since the wilds, despite the flood of intel they gathered on a regular basis. What were they missing? He must have worried too loud, because Dorian began to stir, eyes unfocused and half asleep. Bastien smiled and Dorian snuggled in closer.

“What is the matter, Amatus? You seem…distraught.”

Bastien’s hand came up to idly toy with his hair. “Corypheus’ silence concerns me. He must make another move, I just hope we are ready when the time comes.”

“You’ve done all you can, I’m sure we’ll be just fine.” Dorian yawned.

“Alright. But if this goes sideways I will be certain to use my last breath to remind you of those words.” He laughed and leaned forward to plant a kiss on the bridge of Dorian’s nose.


	69. Before the End

A door below slammed, echoing up the hall into the rotunda, startling Dorian and the crows at once. Dorian set his book down in his chair as he moved to investigate the thunder of feet racing up the steps. He was almost concerned until he saw the looks on Bastien’s face when he crested the steps.

“What in Andraste’s name is going on with you?” Dorian couldn’t help but laugh as Bastien skirted behind him, gripping him hard by the hips and using him as a shield. The man was positively glowing, his face flushed and split wide with that immensely charming grin, eyes bright and glinting with mischief, he looked years younger and much lighter. He wanted to turn and kiss the man right then but the clack of heels storming up the stairs meant his pursuer was close at hand. He was more than a bit startled to see Josephine as the aggressor. Her presence wasn’t the startling part, it was the deadly scowl on her face. Well, that and the soaking wet, disheveled state of her. He lifted his arm to peer at Bastien’s partially hidden face at his waist, “I assume you are responsible for this”

        “Sera helped.” 

        “Of course she did.” Dorian murmured, turning back towards Josephine, planting his most endearing smile on his face. “Josephine! How lovely of you to stop by.”

        “I would like a private word with the Lord Inquisitor, Master Pavus, if you please.” Her tone was the sharpest he’d ever heard, but he only smiled all the wider.

        “Whatever for?” She made a grand sweeping gesture over her frame. “Ah, surely a simple misunderstanding.”

        “Tell that to the Duke de Chevre! It took me several minutes to get the bucket from his head!” Josephine shouted, then covered her mouth at her outburst, clearing her throat as she straightened out her tunic. “Honestly, Inquisitor, I never thought you would stoop to Sera’s level.”

        In the rafters above, a laugh permeated the rotunda, echoing warmly off its walls.

        “I don’t believe you!” A woman’s voice whispered just loud enough to hear from a nearby alcove.

        “I swear it’s true! I saw her chasing him afterward!” A man replied, his laugh much louder, “I guess he knows how to cheer his people up after all.”

        Josephine glowered at the comments but Dorian jumped at the opportunity to defuse her and spare Bastien all at once.

        “See? He only did it to improve the morale of Skyhold, it was nothing personal, Lady Josephine. I’m certain he is sorry the Duke de Chevre was caught in the crossfire, but everyone was in dire need of a laugh, don’t you agree?”

        Josie sighed, murmuring ‘very well’ as she turned to depart. Bastien didn’t remove himself from his hiding place until they could no longer hear the clack of her heels on the stone steps. As he righted himself, Dorian turned to face him.

        “Thank you, Dorian.” Bastien smiled, the grin not even remotely close to fading from his features.

        “I didn’t do it for free.” He murmured, and Bastien’s grin faltered briefly, the already rosy tint to his cheeks growing deeper.

        “Oh.” Bastien murmured as Dorian leaned in and angled his lips to stop just shy of Bastien’s, leaving it up to him to close the distance.

They didn’t touch, but the space between them was magnetic, pulling them forward to close the small distance. Neither moved for several breaths, reveling in the proximity and warm sensations it brought washing over their skin. Very slowly, Bastien moved forward, closing the space between them, brushing his lips softly over Dorian’s. The delicate contact sent a chill racing down his spine. It was the most tender kiss they’d ever shared, but the fire it stoked between them burned no less bright. Dorian sighed and leaned in, deepening the kiss with his weight as he pressed himself fully against Bastien, his arm hooking around the back of his head to pull him in closer.

He felt Bastien’s lips curl against his, and a strong arm circle around his waist to pull them firmly together. The kiss was almost lazy, comforting in a way, soft and familiar, as if they’d done this a thousand times. Now that Dorian thought about it, it was entirely possible. Bastien made a habit of stealing quick kisses from him any time their paths crossed. When he was on his way to a meeting with his advisors and Dorian was in the dining hall, he would lean around the chair and, regardless of whether Dorian’s mouth was full or he was in the middle of speaking, he would plant a kiss on the man’s mouth. Or if he was on his way to meet with Leliana and Bastien would steal away into his alcove and pin him to the bookshelf. Those were his favorite.

Slowly, Bastien pulled away, his arms sliding from Dorian’s waist.

“I suppose that will do.” Dorian sighed, grinning at Bastien as he pulled away from the embrace, “For now.”

Bastien laughed and planted a gentle kiss to his forehead, “I love you, Amatus.”

Dorian watched his back as he made his way back down the stairs.

\---

Bastien felt the revelry shift to anxiety as he poured over the maps with his advisors. Josephine had forgiven him, even though Cullen and Leliana had both laughed when she told them about it. But the moment had since passed, and each sat in a grim silence, trying to see through Corypheus’ eyes.

“Well, aren’t you a lively bunch.” Morrigan murmured as she sauntered back into the war room to lean against the table.

“Lady Morrigan.” Bastien greeted half-heartedly. He’d originally been intrigued by the woman, but lately her presence was grating. After her behavior at the temple, and again in the fade, he didn’t trust her, yet he would have no choice but to. She was the only one strong enough to take on Corypheus’ dragon, and so long as his dragon survived, so did he.

“I take it the scouts have not reported anything of note?” Morrigan sighed, her gaze flicking to Leliana, almost in a challenge. He knew the two had history from the first blight, and apparently it wasn’t too amiable.

“We know that Corypheus and his forces are on the retreat, we have taken a few deserters under close watch, but they do not seem to know his plans either.” Leliana picked up her latest missive and sighed, “So no, nothing new.”

The scouts had been working overtime, and despite the Inquisitions best efforts to keep them comfortable, they were in desperate need of rest. Bastien sighed and braced his hands on the table, looking at the mass of scout markers littering its surface.

“Leliana, pull back some of our scouts. I want them rotating duty, a week of patrol, a week of rest. I don’t want us losing people when we can avoid it.” Leliana seemed hesitant to agree at first, but sighed and consented, writing a quick note to Harding. “Cullen, how are our troops?”

“Ready for anything, Inquisitor. There are a few stationed here,” He pointed to an area on the map, “And here. They are on a relatively routine patrol between our established camps. Aside from the few we have sent out on more targeted missions, they are maintaining their training regiments at our established camps and getting rest, as you ordered.”

Bastien nodded. It wouldn’t do to find Corypheus and not have the strength to take him on. He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. They needed to take Corypheus down before he could recover his troops, but they couldn’t do that if they didn’t have a location. They were stuck, they needed some kind of sign, some direction, at this point, he would take anything.

“What about the deep roads?” Josephine piped up, and it was an ingenious plan. If they suspected the dragon to be an archdemon, then it would make sense. Bastien opened his mouth in reply, only to cry out.

The world was swathed in an all too familiar green light, the mark in his palm flared painfully, radiating up his arm. He stared down at the green flames dancing along his palm, pulling towards the windows. He looked up and out, the others following suit, and his heart sank. The Breach was open. The Breach he had nearly died to close was open once more.

“Corypheus.” Bastien growled, turning on his heel. He’d had it. He was sick of waiting, sick of running. This ended now.

“Where are you going?” Cullen shouted, and Bastien stopped a moment, turning to face them.

“If I don’t close that Breach again it will swallow everything up, it may open new rifts, flood the area with more demons. I can’t let that happen.” He shook his head, “Corypheus is the only one with the power to do this, if we go to the breach, we find him.”

“Inquisitor, we must ready the troops.” Cullen shook his head, “You cannot charge into this alone and-“

“That will take time that we do not have.” Leliana answered with a sigh, she no doubt had the same realization in Bastien.

“We can’t afford to wait, I will face him alone if I must.”

“Like hell you will.” He heard Cassandra scoff behind him and turned to see his friends lined up, looking down at him and blocking the door. Dorian stood at the front, staff in hand. He likely felt the sudden surge of magic when the breach reopened. Cassandra stepped forward, each of them was already armed and ready. “We are all coming with you.”

As much as he wanted to refuse, to keep them safe and tucked away in Skyhold, he would need the help. He smiled.

“Let’s end this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! Life has been hectic. If it wasn't for Harvey I would've been too busy so I guess thanks Hurricane for locking me in my house all day! I will try and get another chapter soon, and we are so close to the end guys!! Thank you for sticking it out with me!!


	70. Doom Upon All the World

Bastien fought the bile rising in the back of his throat as he trod through the ash, debris catching on an unseen breeze to flit across the soon to be battlefield. The unsteady pressure radiating from the red lyrium penetrated him to the bone, though looking at his mage compatriots he wagered that wasn’t the real cause. _These could be Jean’s ashes I’m stomping on._ His brothers remains could be anywhere in this crater, he would never find them, he’d already tried. Even without Jean, they stood on the grave of countless souls ripped from this world, from families like his own, from lovers.  But the shouts of guards in trouble wouldn’t wait on his remorse. He clenched his fist, feeling Jean’s ring strain beneath his gauntlet to pinch his flesh, and charged forward. He would avenge his brother, all Thedas, right here, right now. Bastien would not leave until Corypheus was reduced to nothing, even if he had to sacrifice himself to see it so.   

They arrived just in time to save the few scouts remaining, Harding and those who’d been stationed in or around Skyhold moving quickly to collect the wounded and carry them to safety. Corypheus turned his attention to Bastien, his claws scraping against his treasured orb.

“I knew you would come.” He purred, falling to a deep, mocking bow.

“This ends here.” Bastien growled in response, quickly advancing.

“So it shall.” Corypheus murmured before the earth began to shake.

Bastien was thrown to his back as the ground beneath them lurched toward the sky, hurtling towards the breach as it swirled above. He scrambled to kneel, trying desperately to fight against the sudden wave of vertigo as the mountains began to fall away. The moment the ground steadied he leapt to his feet, clenching his sword in a white knuckled grip as Corypheus stared down at him.

“You have been most successful in foiling my plans, but let us not forget what you are.” Corypheus shook his head and growled, “A thief, in the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A gnat.”

He felt the energy shift as arcs of red lightning radiated around Corypheus’ frame, his low voice reverberating through his chest, threatening to steal the air from his lungs. He clenched his fist harder, the ring digging into his skin, the pain snapping him back.

“We shall prove here, once and for all, which of us is worthy of Godhood.”

“I do not seek Godhood.” Bastien readied his shield, “And I am done talking.”

He felt himself lean forward, matching Corypheus’ hardened stare with one of his own. He was done running, he was done chasing, he was more than ready to dig his sword into Corypheus’ heart. A loud clatter drew his attention upward, as the archdemon crested the stone pillar. He knew Morrigan was waiting for this very moment, but he still flinched when the demon lunged at him, when its massive frame collided with Morrigan to tumble off the edge. He collected himself far faster than Corypheus, however, and reveled in the shock that flitted briefly over the monster’s face.

“You dare.” Corypheus growled, and launched his assault.

Corypheus was powerful, there was no question. But the long year spent hunting him, his men, fighting hordes of demons, the ventatori, and more than one pissed off dragon had turned his team, his family into an unstoppable force of nature created for this exact moment. Now, on the slopes where it all began, that force was directed towards a solitary target. Corypheus’ delay would be his downfall. Everything, past and present, rested on this moment. So many had already been lost, their souls witnesses to this final struggle, they could not fail.

 “Corypheus!” Bastien shouted, gaining ground after him as the last of the demons fell, cresting the stairs to an open platform. “Stop running from me!”

Bastien was struggling, it was hard to focus on his target with dragons clashing and mountains floating over his head. His charge skidded to a halt, his feet feeling as though he was glued to the stone. There was no edge, one solid blast and he could easily end up in a free fall.

“Hey Rosie, remember when I said the craziest shit happens to you?” Varric shouted, snapping focus away from the floating mountains, “This is what I was talking about!”

Bastien snorted. Varric had an excellent point, this was some crazy shit. As if on cue, Morrigan and the archdemon dove low overhead, causing everyone, including Corypheus, to crouch and cover their heads before rocketing towards the breach. When she’d gained enough height, Morrigan turned and slammed hard into the archdemon, trying to tackle him to the ground, but at the last second the demon twisted, and in a cloud of dust, Morrigan hit first.

“Morrigan!” Bastien shouted, skidding on his heel towards her. He knew Corypheus wouldn’t leave until this was finished, he wouldn’t have gone to all the effort to lure them here if he planned to just run away. He had to ensure the archdemon was dead first, then Corypheus would be alone with no hope of regenerating.

As he landed, the archdemon shakily stood. Morrigan had done considerable damage, and the hulking frame of the demon shook with the effort to stand. Blood spattered the ground beneath it as it stumbled forward, barely missing Morrigan. When the dragon leapt towards them, Bastien dove, catching Morrigan as he raced toward the edge, tucking her against the wall before charging forward once more. With the full force of the inner circle throwing their all into taking the monster down, it didn’t take long before the dragon began to fall, its final roar cut short when Bastien leapt onto its back and plunged his sword to the hilt in the demon’s skull. Bastien rolled his neck out, shook his shoulders and readied his shield, determination apparent on his features despite the blood trailing from his brow. He wasn’t about to let Corypheus get away.

Wrenching his sword free, he stopped briefly to check on his companions. Some had already rushed to assist Morrigan, the rest were near collapsing. They were all exhausted. First the hastened travel, then Corypheus, then his dragon? It was no wonder half of them struggled to stand. Dorian downed two lyrium potions, but still looked overly drained, leaning too heavily against his staff. He watched the energy leave the demon to be resorbed, and felt himself snarl when Corypheus shouted down at him.

“Let it end here! Let the skies boil! Let the world be rent asunder!” His voice faded as he turned, moving closer to the breach.

Bastien dug in his heels and ran hard. He knew he should be exhausted, but the mark was feeding him power from the fade. He should be terrified, he should resist it, but he’d sworn this would be the end of it. If that meant the mark would devour him, then so be it.

He’d gained the stairs and was halfway up when the ground lurched once more, breaking away from the larger piece and, more importantly, separating him from his companions. He froze mid step, turning to watch as they began to shrink away. He raced back to the base of the stairs and locked eyes with Dorian, saw the panic on his features. He swallowed hard, and smiled at him. They both knew this could be the end, and he would take solace in the fact that Dorian, his Amatus, would survive.

He didn’t speak, there was nothing he could say. The moment stretched between them, a million unsaid words, countless unshared moments, the possibility that this could be it hung in the air. Bastien barely resisted the urge to leap back down, fairly certain he would survive the now fifty-foot drop. He inclined his head to Dorian and turned, racing back up the stairs before he could give in. He couldn’t let Corypheus get away, no matter what it cost him. He would avenge his brother and create a world safe for the man he loved. That would be his legacy.

He dropped the few feet to what seemed to be the final arena. They sat just beneath the ever-growing breach, his mark sparking wildly, pouring energy into him as Corypheus forced it to expand.

“Now you have come.” Corypheus roared, energy cracking wildly around him to collide with several stones, shattering them to a million pieces near Bastien’s feet, “I will tear out your beating heart and the world shall see its strongest fall!”

Bastien twirled his sword in his hand and pointed it at Corypheus, “You will not have this world. Even if I fall, more will rise in my place.” He cut through the air with his sword, green energy radiating off his frame as power continued to pour into him, “I am one face among millions, one soldier for our freedom and we will not sit by quietly. I carry their hopes, their fears on my shoulders and I will not fail them! I _will_ see you dead by my hand!”

He raised his shield and charged, exploding forward in a blur. Corypheus’ claws glanced off the edge of his shield, barely deflecting him in time though his sword caught on a rib. As he passed, a few found purchase in his shoulder, catching to toss him towards a nearby pillar, but the throw was weak and he rolled back to his feet with nothing but gouges in his shoulder. The several smaller altercations had left Corypheus weakened, while the breach he insisted on strengthening continued to feed Bastien with more and more power. He knew his eyes were glowing green, he could see his skin glowing beneath the armor. He flicked the blood from his sword, one good hit and this would be over.

Bracing his shield against his shoulder, he barreled forward. Corypheus raised his hand and a beam of superheated energy slammed into his shield, pushing him back several feet before he regained traction. Slowly, Bastien pushed his way forward, closing the distance until he was close enough to sink his sword into Corypheus’ side. The steel tore through his withered flesh, breaking through the crystals until it sank to the hilt. With a twist of his arm, he ripped the blade free, leaving a massive gash in its wake. With a howl, the monster launched away from him, a blood-soaked hand clenched to his side. He gripped the orb, calling upon gods long dead to aid him as he slunk away.

The mark flared, its energy warm and encouraging. It was trying to help him once more, to give him some direction that would save his life just as it had in the Western Approach. He dropped his shield and obeyed, reaching his hand forward and the orb rocketed towards him, slamming into Corypheus’ face in its haste to obey.

For a moment, everything fell silent. The only visible motion the orb itself, spinning lazily in his hand. He felt the power radiating from the object and into the mark, into him as the whispers from a lost age floated in the back of his mind. He knew what to do, the voices were all whispering it.

He held the orb high over his head, pulsing green light radiating around him before exploding upward, slamming into the breach hard enough to push the platform down several feet. The ground cracked beneath his boots but he stood firm, the orb emptying itself into the breach. The world fell silent as the energy subsided, the orb falling uselessly to the ground. Bastien turned his attention to Corypheus, who sat kneeling, weak and winded with his power source gone.

“No…not like this.” Corypheus shook his massive head, reaching towards Bastien, “I have walked the halls of the Golden City… Crossed the ages…”

Bastien slapped away Corypheus’ outstretched hand, pressing his marked palm against the monster’s forehead.

“You wanted into the fade?” Bastien growled, opening his mark and letting the excess energy pour into Corypheus’ skull. He watched as the energy ignited within, wrenching Corypheus’ head back as his eyes began to glow sickly green before disintegrating. He stepped back as the body twitched and broke, crumbling in on itself before burning to ash, only to be sucked away and into the fade, screams echoing against the temple walls.

Bastien didn’t have the chance to catch his breath, to enjoy his victory before the sky came crashing down. He tried to run, to avoid the falling boulders, but with the breach settled and the mark no longer feeding him, his energy began to wane. He barely managed to avoid the massive boulder, but the shock sent him reeling. When he finally came to, the dust had begun to settle. He didn’t dare move for several heartbeats, not quite believing he was alive. He did a mental check, moving small parts here and there before eventually sitting up, shocked he was not only alive, but in one piece and relatively unharmed. He stood shakily and looked around the ruins. He was still alone. Had anyone else made it?

A shift behind him had him spinning on his heel, half expecting to see Corypheus standing there once more, but it was just Solas. He sighed and smiled, stopping short when he saw the clear distress on Solas’ features upon seeing the shattered orb.

“I’m sorry it couldn’t be saved.” Bastien braced a hand on Solas’ shoulder, gripping it firmly as he knelt, lifting one of the larger pieces himself. So much chaos caused by such a small object.

Solas shook his head, “So much has been lost.”

“BASTIEN!” Dorian’s voice cracked through the area, desperate and broken as it echoed off the remaining walls. He was alive. Bastien didn’t look back, rocks and dust flying up behind him as he raced toward the voice, rounding the corner to see most of his companions at the base of the stairs. Dorian was at the front, eyes wide and frantic, stilling when they met his. For a moment, neither dared move. But it wasn’t long before Bastien raced down the stairs and lifted Dorian into his arms.

Dorian, for once, didn’t complain. He wrapped his arms tightly around Bastien’s neck, burying his face against his sweat and blood-soaked hair. Bastien buried his face into Dorian’s neck, and for a long while neither dared to move. Dorian had been so terrified, watching Bastien race off alone. If he hadn’t been so damn tired he would have been able to keep up, able to be by his side for the final battle. But none of that mattered now, he had to keep reminding himself of that. Bastien was here. He was in his arms, he was safe and healthy enough to lift him and spin him around and Dorian couldn’t be happier.

“Wassat?” Sera asked, pulling something from Bastien’s hand. He’d forgotten he was holding a piece of the orb and he smiled, lowering Dorian to the ground but not releasing him. Dorian’s arms remained around his neck, Bastien’s arm holding him tightly to his side as he held the shattered bit out towards Sera.

“Whats left of the orb.” Sera lurched back, and Bastien grinned. “Don’t worry, all the magic is gone, it’s just a relic now.”

“Its actually over? Corypheus is slain?” Cassandra stepped forward, wringing her hands, and Bastien smiled.

“Yes. It’s over.” He pressed a kiss to Dorian’s temple and he let go, reaching for his hand instead.

“And the sky is healed, healthy…whole. There’s just that left to remember.” Cole smiled, peering from beneath his hat to a sky lit with a swirling aurora. For a long while, everyone stood silent, letting the victory sink in. So much had crested to this moment, so much had been lost and gained to allow them to see this day. Bastien smiled and pulled Dorian close once more.

“What do we do now, boss?” Bull asked, sounding more unsure than he’d ever heard him.

Bastien grinned at them all, his family, his friends, they had all survived. His brothers, his sister, all the lives that had been taken by Corypheus had been avenged, the world could finally begin to heal. And so could he. He gripped Dorian’s hand.

“We go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for being patient with me! I cant believe its over! 70 Chapters!! Holy crow... I love you all for the comments and kudos, to those that bookmarked this work and cared when I posted. You have all been so wonderful and motivating. There will be an epilogue chapter but it may be a bit further out. Thanks again everyone!


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